


toward eternity

by sapphictomaz



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Death, Hurt/Comfort, Immortality, M/M, Multi, but all the pairings listed are there too, its mainly murphamy with side clexa & remori
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:53:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 18
Words: 108,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23870377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphictomaz/pseuds/sapphictomaz
Summary: John Murphy cannot die.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/John Murphy, Clarke Griffin & John Murphy, Clarke Griffin/Lexa, Emori/Raven Reyes, Eric Jackson/Nathan Miller, Jasper Jordan & John Murphy, Lexa & John Murphy (The 100), Monty Green/Harper McIntyre, Octavia Blake/Lincoln
Comments: 97
Kudos: 216





	1. because i could not stop for death

**Author's Note:**

  * For [oogaboogu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oogaboogu/gifts).



> hello! before we begin, a few things:
> 
> 1) this fic is dedicated to meg (oogaboogu), who inspired me to write this. she is absolutely incredible and such a talented writer, so much thanks to her for giving me this idea, and please go check her stuff out!
> 
> 2) this is inspired by a fic i wrote about three years ago, called "if you only knew (my heart is breaking)." it's the same basic premise in this fic as that one, so if you're thinking hey, i read this before, don't worry - i wrote that one, too. no stealing here. 
> 
> 3) **heavy, heavy warnings for death and suicide for this fic. the entire concept and premise is about death, so safe to say, there is lots of it in here, and it stretches from mentioned/implied - graphic. there are also lots of references to suicide & suicidal thoughts/actions. it is not sensitively portrayed.**
> 
> 4) the title is from emily dickinson's poem "because i could not stop for death." 
> 
> okay! i'll shut up now. thank you for giving this a shot!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He kindly stopped for me –  
> The Carriage held but just Ourselves –  
> And Immortality.

There are many reasons why Murphy lights the fire. Most of them, he’ll never say out loud. 

He does so for revenge, most of all. This is what he’ll tell the Chancellor and the council, should he be caught, and this is what he’ll tell the other prisoners in lock-up. Some of them will think he’s doing it for attention, and that might be true, at least to some degree. Some others may think that he’s doing it as a cry for help after losing both of his parents to the harsh world of the Ark. Murphy laughs when he thinks about this outcome. There’s more truth to it than anyone will ever know. 

He’s standing in the cabin of the officer who arrested his father for stealing just one bottle of medicine. It’s haunting, in more ways than one, to be alone here. When he stands still in the center of the room, filled with personal belongings and photographs of the family of the man who ruined his life, he feels the oddest sense of remorse. He’s got a child, a daughter, and she’s in almost every photo, smiling up at her mother and father, as if she doesn’t know that he’s killed more people than she’s probably ever met. 

Maybe it’s wrong of him to destroy her home and the things that make her happy. She hasn’t done anything wrong, after all. As far as she’s concerned, he’s the monster who broke into their home and destroyed it without cause or reason. 

He looks at the photos again. Without wanting to, he pictures his own family. They had photos like this in their home, too, before Murphy had ripped them all up because their smiling faces had turned out to be lies. He’s doing what he has to, and besides - there’s one reason he’s doing this that comes before anything else. 

_ Through the haze of the sickness, he remembers his father leaning down, concern and sympathy etched into every corner of his face. “I’m so sorry, John, but people talk up here. They already suspect something is wrong. I have to do this - for me, and for you.” He’d placed a gentle kiss on Murphy’s forehead, and then after a moment, “Don’t be afraid. You won’t die - you can’t. I’m sorry.”  _

_ That was the last time he’d ever seen his father. He’d been floated before he’d had a chance to say goodbye. _

Murphy shakes his head, clearing away the thoughts of the past. He has to act now - sooner rather than later, because someone is going to notice the picked lock on the door, or a member of the family will come back and discover an intruder. 

He has to know. 

Quickly, he pours the gasoline he’s managed to acquire over all the surfaces of the living quarters. Both this and the match he holds in his other hand are illegal items, but once his mother had drunk herself to death, the law started to matter a lot less. He knew where his mother had kept her expensive belongings he could trade, and he knew who on the Ark could get him the things he needed. It truly was too easy. 

Before he can stop himself, he lights the match and drops it on the ground. Instantly, the gasoline catches the spark and ignites, flames shooting up from the ground and following the trail he’s set up. Within the blink of an eye, their kitchen table is alight, the trail of fire heading for the bedrooms. 

There’s still time. He eyes the door wearily, and he knows he can make it out of here if he leaves now. Sure, he’ll never make it down the hall without being caught, but he can make it out with his life intact. Murphy steps forwards, then stops himself, rocking unsteadily on his heels. 

Years ago, his father had been involved in a horrific work accident. Machinery had failed, something had exploded, and a piece of metal went straight through his father’s chest. His coworkers swore up and down that Alex Murphy had died instantly, only to wake up an hour later with no wound at all. Doctors proclaimed it a miracle - the hot metal had cauterized the wound, and his pulse hadn’t stopped, it had just been too slow to find because of the shock. Even they weren’t convinced by this, but what choice did they have? How else does a dead man tell his tale?

He has to know. 

Murphy steps back, watching as the fire cuts off his exit point, covering the door entirely. Alarms are sounding off now, all over the Ark. In only minutes the hall will be swarmed with guards and emergency responders. It won’t matter. 

The air is getting thick with smoke and he starts to cough as ash enters his lungs. Still, he stands for as long as he can, refusing to give in. The fire is coming closer. Something shakes above him, and he manages to look upwards and squint through the smoke to see a long, heavy, rectangular light fixture coming loose from the ceiling, seconds away from falling down on top of him.

He could move. He could run, he could scream, he could play innocent and pretend he wasn’t the one who did this. Maybe someone would take pity on him and believe him. Still, as the smoke in his lungs gets too thick to breathe, he knows it’s much too late for any of them. 

_ You won’t die, _ his father’s voice rings in his ears.  _ You can’t. _

Yet, the light falls anyways. It crushes him in an instant, breaking bones and pinning him in place. As he burns and chokes in a fire of his own creation, he knows he is dying. 

Then he doesn’t know much of anything at all, because John Murphy is very much dead. 

* * *

_ John Murphy is dead, and then he’s not.  _

_ Or - is he still? It’s hard to tell when his eyes open and adjust to the bright light. He’s no longer in the guard’s quarters. The taste of ash is no longer on his tongue, and the burning heat of the fire on his skin has vanished. Slowly, he attempts to stand, and finds that the light fixture that had crushed him has now vanished, and his body is somehow intact.  _

_ His legs shake when he stands and he stumbles, but only for a moment. When he catches himself, he finally looks around, and sees absolutely nothing. The room he’s in is completely white. There are no doors or windows - no way in, and no way out. There are no lines or marks on any of the walls. Everything seems to be in pristine condition. In fact, when he looks down at himself, he, too, is dressed in all white. He’d died in an old t-shirt, he was sure of that, but now he’s wearing a light turtleneck sweater, white pants and white shoes that make it hard to tell where the floor ends and where his feet begin. _

_ Slowly, he turns around, examining the wall behind him, but it’s only more of the same. It dawns on him that his father was wrong. He doesn’t know what he’s meant to do now, but he remembers how he got here. He remembers what it feels like to die.  _

_ “You’re not supposed to be here.” _

_ He spins around at the sound of the voice. In front of him is a throne and a cloaked figure sitting in it that wasn’t there only moments ago. The chair and the figure are both dressed in black, a defined contrast to the rest of the room. The figure’s head hangs downwards, so that Murphy can’t see any part of their face. In their left hand, they hold a weapon he’s never seen before in a gloved hand - the handle is long, maybe even taller than he is, and at the top is a curved, shining blade. This, too, is as dark as night.  _

_ He knows he should be, but he is not scared. “What is this place?” _

_ The figure only laughs. Their black cloak blends in with the chair so much that he feels as if he is only talking to a shadow. “This is between,” they say. When they speak, it sounds like many voices layered over one. It sounds harmonious, yet also chaotic. “You will come to know it well, it seems.” _

_ “I don’t understand.”  _

_ “No,” they say, “I imagine that you don’t.” _

_ He shakes his head, raising a hand to brush it through his hair. When he looks at his fingers, however, he can see right through them. A pained gasp escapes his throat as he stares at his hand, slowly fading into nothingness right before his eyes. “What’s happening?” _

_ The figure laughs. It’s nothing short of harrowing to hear, yet oddly it sets some comfort in his bones. “You’re leaving. Sooner than I expected, but I suppose it is because you are young.” _

_ “Leaving? I - I don’t understand!” _

_ “You will. In time.” _

_ The sense of calm he had initially felt is long gone. “If you won’t tell me anything about this place, at least tell me who you are!” _

_ The figure stays silent for a moment, before they lift their head, the hood of the cloak falling back. For a moment, he’s met with the image of a beautiful woman with long, dark hair, but then he blinks and he’s staring at an old man with an easy smile and wrinkled eyes. The face shifts once more into that of a child, and then a young man, and then a middle-aged woman, and it never stops shifting for even a second.  _

_ “Do you understand yet?” they ask, slipping the hood of the cloak back up.  _

_ He looks down, seeing that almost all of him has vanished. In the distance, he can hear voices and the hum of machinery that sounds suspiciously like the Ark. The longer he stands in silence, his mind whirling, the louder the sounds become.  _

_ “Goodbye, John,” the figure says, and it, too, begins to fade. “I will make sure to tell your father you stopped by.” _

_ “Wait - you know my father? You met him? Wait!” _

_ It’s of no use. The figure vanishes, throne and all, and then the room around him crumbles into dust. The distant hum of machinery grows louder, and before he even thinks about opening his eyes, he realizes now where he is, and what has just happened.  _

_ Murphy’s left alone with only his thoughts and the darkness, and the assurity that he has just spoken to Death itself.  _

* * *

He wakes with a gasp and a breath that threatens to rip right through his chest. Sensation returns to every inch of his body all at the same time, resulting in the worst feeling of pins and needles he’s ever felt. His eyes fly open, the world around him at first only a mess of unclear colours before solidifying into focus. He’s been here before - he’s in the infirmary on the Ark.

His lungs are waking up and learning how to breathe again, and as another rough inhale courses through him he tries to sit up on instinct. Something holds him down, and it’s now that he becomes aware of the cold metal around each of his wrists. He’s handcuffed to the bed. Murphy would laugh at this, truly, if he didn’t remember the haunting conversation he’d just had. 

_ Death itself.  _ He had died. He knows it to be true - he doesn’t know how, or why, but somewhere deep inside his heart he knows it to be an irrefutable fact that he died, and has now come back to life. A thousand more questions erupt in his mind. Where exactly had he gone when he’d spoken to Death? How much time had passed between his point of death and now, when he’s woken up? Clearly he’s been alive for at least some of that, or he wouldn’t have been moved to the infirmary. Is he going to truly never die, or are there a limited number of times one can do this? Will he age?

Most of all, he wants to know about his father. Death knows him, and they’ve met him, apparently, quite recently from the way it sounded. Yet - Murphy’s no fool. He knows his father was floated. There were witnesses to this. There’s no way that he somehow managed to escape this fate, or that he could survive being hurled out of an airlock into open space. 

Except - Murphy just survived being crushed in a fire, so perhaps there’s hope. He smiles, hope taking hold in his heart. His father could be alive. He could have come back to life. Just when he’s in the middle of this euphoric realization, it shatters when Murphy realizes  _ exactly _ what this means. 

Sure, his father could have survived, and okay, if it’s true that the Murphys are able to cheat death, then he could have come back to life. But so what if he did? His body would have still been in the harsh regions of space, with no life to be found. Did that mean his father was condemned to float amidst the stars forever, cold and alone? Or was the life torn from his body each time he revived, lost to an endless cycle of terrible death and revival forever?

A tear snakes down his cheek before he can stop it. Quickly, he tries to wipe it away, but the cuffs around his wrist keep his hand in place. He succeeds only at rattling the metal against the side of the bed, alerting the attention of the all-too-familiar Dr. Griffin. 

“John,” she says as she approaches his bedside, “you gave us quite a scare, there.”

She starts checking over the machines monitoring his vitals and marking things off on a chart, wearing that thin, tight-lipped smile she wore with all her patients. He’d spent a considerable amount of time in here when he’d first gotten sick with the flu, and she’d been there for most of it. “Yeah,” is all he can think to say. There’s no light fixture on him this time, but he still feels like he’s been crushed and defeated.

“It’s a miracle that you came out unscathed,” she says with a sigh, putting the chart down and looking down at him. Her expression shifts to one of pity, and he’d rather be anywhere else than under her gaze. “I suppose you’re like your father, that way.”

His chest tightens and he tears his gaze away from hers. He’s just found out he can’t die and his father is trapped in a horrible hell for all of eternity. He can’t deal with her supposed empathy on top of everything else. 

“Well,” she says, filling the silence, “you’re cleared to go, so the guards are going to come and take you to lock-up soon.”

This gets his attention again. “I - for what?”

Her eyes soften. “Everyone knows you lit the fire, John.”

“No, I - no!”

She shakes her head. “We know it was you. The council has already decided. And with both your parents...gone, they all agreed it was better for you to stay in lock-up until you were eighteen, and you could have a proper trial.”

_ Proper trial _ . He knows what that means. At eighteen years old, he’ll be thrown out the airlock without a trial at all, because he’s a criminal with no skills and a potential drain on future medical resources. And if he’s anything like his father, he, too, will be cursed to die and revive forever, and ever, and ever. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, giving him one last professional smile, before she picks her chart back up and leaves. He looks over to the side of the room, now that she’s gone, and sees her daughter, Clarke, sitting in a chair at the edge of the room. He knows that Clarke helps out in here sometimes, and he’d met her first when he’d been treated for the flu. She was kind - too kind. 

Clarke’s staring at him, words at the tip of her tongue. “They said you died,” she says, once her mother is out of earshot, tending to somebody else. 

“That I did.” There’s no point in lying. He’s never going to see her again. She’ll grow up to be the Ark’s next surgeon. Maybe, from time to time, she’ll wonder at the medical miracles in the Murphy family, but she’ll chalk it up to dumb luck and move on. 

“Nobody revived you,” she continues. “My mom said you had no pulse when they found you.”

“That’s great.”

She leans forwards in her chair, examining him thoroughly. “You don’t even have a burn on you.”

“What’s your point?” he snaps, watching the way Clarke’s eyebrows raise, as if she’s pleased by the challenge. 

She stares him down, for only a moment, before reclining back and shrugging. “I just think it’s curious, don’t you?”

“Not really,” he says. “I lived. That’s it. Now they’re locking me up.”

“Yeah, because you did something bad.”

“Did I?”

Now, it seems, he’s genuinely puzzled her. “You lit a family’s quarters on fire. Of course you did.”

“No one died, right?”

“Except for you? No. No one died.”

“Then how bad could it really have been?”

She sighs, rolling her eyes at him. “You can’t measure the ethics of things in their body count. Just because nobody died doesn’t mean what you did is a good thing.”

“Sure I can,” he says, and then he turns his head away, cutting off the conversation the best he can. 

He thinks Clarke’s probably going to say more, because that’s the kind of person she is, when two guards come in and approach his bed. One of them unlocks the cuffs chaining him to the bed, shove a change of clothes in his hands, and before he knows it he’s being hauled upright and escorted out of the room, one guard in front and one behind him. 

On his way out of the infirmary, he catches one more glimpse of Clarke. She’s giving him the oddest, most calculating smile, though he couldn’t for the life of him attempt to explain why. 

The guards take him to the juvenile lock-up, pushing him into the first empty cell they come across. Without a word, they lock the door behind them, leaving Murphy alone in an empty, barren room with nothing to distract him but his thoughts. 

He sinks to the floor in the corner of the cell, his back against the wall. He stays like this for hours, in complete silence, thoughts full of his complete loneliness and his eventual damnation. Murphy wonders if he’s feeling even a fraction of what his father’s feeling, at this very second.

He thinks it’s probably much worse. 

* * *

Murphy’s not in isolation, and he isn’t kept in his cell for too long. It doesn’t take long for him to form his own allegiances with the rest of the kids in the Skybox. It doesn’t take long at all for him to get a knife of his own. 

These sorts of things are illegal contraband in here, of course, but he hides it well enough. He uses old pens, clips and even the cutlery they’re given for meals to carve  _ J.M.  _ into the handle. It takes weeks, maybe months, to get it looking the way he wants it to, but there’s nothing else to focus his wandering attention on. 

Sure, he gets close to John Mbege and some of the other prisoners. As time goes on, he becomes one of the prisoners who has been there the longest, and though he’s not the strongest or the smartest of the bunch, he keeps hold of some control over the rest of them. It’s nice, for a time, but there’s always a lingering feeling of guilt in the back of his mind when he thinks about his situation and how he got here. 

It’s why one night out of the many he sits lazily in the corner of his cell, his back to the wall, holding one leg close to his chest while he lets the other one lay out in front of him. In his right hand, he flips the knife around, as if pointless blade tricks will satisfy him. 

He realizes, then - it’s the middle of the night. His cell door is locked. Guard presence is minimal. No one will see him until the morning, which is many hours away. With a resigned sigh, he flips the knife one more time, grasping onto the hilt. His thumb brushes over the carved in letters,  _ J.M. _ , just another reminder of an identity he doesn’t want. 

Murphy spins the knife around. With all his strength, he stabs it into his chest, as close to the heart as he can. 

It doesn’t kill him instantly. Instead, he gets a few moments to wonder if he’s made a mistake. Maybe it won’t work this time - maybe he really did only get one revival, and then that was it for life. It doesn’t matter. He’ll be floated at eighteen, anyways. 

Most of this time he uses trying to fight the urge to scream at the pain and shock that courses through his body. That’s over pretty soon, too. He slumps against the wall. The knife slips out of his hand and falls to the floor with a  _ clink _ . He hopes that wasn’t loud enough to wake anybody. 

_ It’s the same as last time - his eyes open, and he’s back in the white room. Hesitantly, he glances down at his chest, but there’s no sign of a knife wound, or any blood at all, and just like before, he’s now dressed in all-white clothes that he doesn’t own. He runs an absentminded hand over the sweater, feeling the soft cotton between his fingers. It’s comfortable, sure, but he’d never be caught dead wearing something like this.  _

_ Or - he supposes he would be, considering. Murphy laughs at the thought. “You’re in better spirits this time,” a voice says.  _

_ His laughter ends instantly as he looks up, seeing yet again the black throne and hooded figure - Death. They keep their many faces cast towards the ground, their long blade curved up, above and around them. “I need answers,” Murphy says. _

_ “I know.” _

_ “Where’s my father?” he asks. “What happened to him?” _

_ Death is silent for a moment. “Your father was arrested, and was thrown out of the airlock of your ship - ‘floated,’ as you say.” _

_ “Yeah, I know that much,” Murphy says dryly. “But what happened to him after he died?” _

_ “I cannot say.” _

_ “Yes, you can,” Murphy argues. “What happened to him? Did he come here? And while we’re at it, where  _ is _ here?” _

_ “I told you that last time,” they say. Though they still speak with many voices overlapped into one, it sounds calm and even-tempered throughout the whole exchange. “This is the between.” _

_ “So tell me what I don’t know,” he snaps. He wishes nothing more than to have his knife again, so he could throw it right into Death’s cloaked body. “Why do I come here? What are the rules?” _

_ Death laughs, a truly bone-chilling sound to hear. “The rules are simple. You are immune to my domain, just as your father was, and his father before him.” _

_ It’s the first straight answer he’s been given, yet he isn’t prepared to hear it in the slightest. “It’s really that simple?” he says, as if there’s anything simple about any of this. “I can’t die?” _

_ “Yes,” they say. “Most, when they cross worlds, do not come to the between at all. Yet, your family has, and always has had, the ability to come here, rather than move all the way on. Meaning - you can go back.” _

_ “But I don’t control any of this.” _

_ “No,” they reply, “and neither do I. Do you understand yet?” _

_ He looks down, realizing that his hands have turned completely transparent, and he knows the rest of him will soon follow. Death’s throne is beginning to fade out. “Wait,” he calls, “just - tell me, please. Why is this happening to me?” _

_ “Oh, John,” they say, “who are you to ask for the secrets of the universe?” _

Just like last time, he’s thrown back into his body roughly. He gasps, his hand scrambling against the cell wall to find something to hold on to. There’s a horrible stiffness in his neck that’s going to plague him for days to come. He knows, then and there, that the painful feeling of life returning to his body is one that he’ll never enjoy. 

Still, he has work to do. 

Nothing has moved around him. It’s still night, as far as he can tell, and no one has been alerted that anything is amiss in his cell. There’s a hole in his shirt from where he stabbed through it, but when he examines the wound, there’s no mark of it ever happening, not even a scar. The only evidence that something’s happened is the blood on his clothes, the floor, and what’s still dripping from the knife’s blade. Murphy makes a mental note about this on what he’s calling the  _ Rules of Immortality _ . 

He’s got nothing to clean the blood with, and he has no way to explain it, so he figures there’s not going to be a better opportunity than tonight. Wearily, he eyes the knife, and then he plunges it into his thigh. 

The pain is more than he thought it’d be and he clamps a hand over his mouth to keep himself from screaming, yet he yells through gritted teeth anyways. He slides down the wall, falling to his side, his other hand scrambling at his leg. Finally, his hand finds the source of the wound and presses on it, trying to stop the bleeding - not that, evidently, it really matters. 

Still, he is not healing. “Seriously?” he whispers, even his voice pained.

As he lies in his cell, surrounded by his own blood, Murphy can’t help but laugh. There’s something so cosmically hilarious about the whole situation. 

He’s got a long night ahead of him. 

* * *

Eventually, he puts the finishing touches on his list of  _ John Murphy’s Rules of Immortality: _

  1. He cannot die.
  2. Injuries that are not fatal will not heal faster. 
  3. If he does die, when he comes back, all injuries will be healed, regardless of their severity. 



This is all he managed to figure out before a guard had opened his cell, and he’d had to try and explain the mess of blood in the room. “It’s not mine,” Murphy had settled on, and while the guard had no choice but to believe him since he was not injured in the slightest, he still got thrown in solitary for three days for his “bad behaviour.” He truly doesn’t care, because he still managed to keep the knife without any of them knowing. 

Still, throughout it all, Death refuses to give him a straight answer about what happened to his father. 

Time passes. Years go by without incident. There’s not much point in making life difficult for himself, not when he’s already guarding a secret such as this. It’s probably true that he could prove he has this ability to keep his place on the Ark, but what would he be then? A science experiment? He figures there must be a reason why his father chose to be thrown out of an airlock rather than succumb to that fate. 

His eighteenth birthday comes closer and closer, as does his trial date - but this turns out not to matter. Less than a year before he’d have been floated, Chancellor Jaha changed absolutely everything. 

Murphy knows something is coming. For the last several months, the prisoners in the Skybox have seen rules being enforced to a level they never had been before. They used to be allowed to socialize, at least to some extent, but opportunities for this become rarer and rarer. Most of the time, Murphy’s been stuck alone in his cell, counting the moments by. 

His silence and solitude is broken when two guards throw his cell door open, both of them immediately marching inside. Each one of them grabs one of his arms, hauling him up before he can react to what’s happening. “Hey!” he shouts, and attempts to flail out of their grasp, but their hold is tight. “I’m not eighteen!” he tries again. “Listen to me - it’s not my time, not yet!” Haunting visions of his near future of hurtling through space for all eternity fill his mind. 

The one on his left clips some sort of metal ring around his wrist, tight enough that Murphy knows he won’t be able to take it off. “Prisoner of the Ark,” the other guard says, his voice so bored in tone that it’s clear he’s reading off a memorized script, “you are being given a second chance. You are being sent to the ground.”

“ _ What _ ?” They’ve all been in Pike’s skills class - they knew this could be an eventuality. But none of them were given a warning, let alone a timeline for when this was going to happen. 

Neither of the guards give him the courtesy of an answer. Instead, he’s shoved unceremoniously out of his cell, into a long line of other prisoners from the Skybox. All of them have the same metal wristband on, and none of them look like they know what’s going on. Across the Skybox, he makes worried eye contact with Mbege. Further down the line, he sees an unconscious blonde girl being placed on a stretcher and carried along with them. This makes him laugh, wondering what kind of bad behaviour she did to warrant that, until he looks a little closer and realizes it’s Clarke Griffin. Now he’s really curious as to what she’s done. 

They’re all brought to a dropship, led in single file and strapped into seats by the guards. Mbege is seated in the space next to Murphy. One guard walks down the aisle, securing all of their seatbelts. Oddly, as soon as the one guard is done, another guard walks up the aisle, looking more than a little unsteady. 

He can’t help himself. “Looking for something?” Murphy says. The new guard turns to face him with comedic speed. There’s something odd about this one. Murphy doesn’t recognize him, which is weird in itself, and the lack of confidence in his stance makes him stand out. His dark, curly hair slicked back in a desperate attempt to appear more formal, and there’s more than a little sweat on his brow. It’s his eyes, though, that give him away. Though he’s trying to appear calm, just behind his gaze is wild panic. 

The guard shakes his head subtly, continuing to slowly walk down the line. Once again, Murphy can’t help himself - he also has nothing to lose. If they’re sending them all to the ground, that means the council voted to execute them all, regardless of age. With his situation, Murphy will probably end up alone on the ground, dying over and over again without anyone to call a friend. He might as well have a little fun first. “You did something bad,” he says quietly, as soon as the guard is standing in front of him. Mbege is caught up in a hushed conversation with someone in the next row, and the person to Murphy’s left has her hands over her head. No one is listening. 

The guard freezes, his terrified gaze locking in on Murphy. “Shut up,” he whispers. 

Murphy just shrugs. “You think  _ I’m _ going to turn you in?”

For a moment, the guard only stares at him, as if appraising how serious he is. Just when he’s about to break the silence, one of the actual guards at the doors of the dropship calls out, “Time to go!”

Instantly, the guard in front of him crouches, trying to hide himself in the shadows behind rows of seats. “So what’d you do?” Murphy asks. Mbege has noticed now, but he, too, has nothing to gain by turning this person in. 

He doesn’t answer until each of the other guards have left the dropship and the door has closed behind them, dooming all the prisoners to whatever fate the ground has waiting for them. “Something bad,” he finally says. 

“Did you kill someone?”

The guard just shakes his head, laughing a little under his breath. “It doesn’t matter,” he says. This almost certainly means that yes, he did kill someone - but deep down, Murphy can’t find it in himself to judge. 

“Well,” he says, “welcome aboard. I think you chose a bad ship to smuggle yourself onto.”

“Nah,” the guard says, and then he has the nerve to  _ wink _ at Murphy, as if this somehow means something. “I don’t think I did.”

With that, he stands and leaves, moving to another section of the dropship. “Sure glad he’s here with us,” Mbege says dryly once he’s gone. 

Murphy just sighs, leaning back in his seat and closing his eyes, refusing to open them even when the grating voice of Chancellor Jaha starts playing over a video. They’ve been sent to the ground because they’re  _ expendable  _ \- none of this is new. 

The dropship hurdles out of the Ark and into space. Murphy braces for impact.


	2. death be not proud

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> though some have called thee  
> Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so -  
> For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow  
> Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.

_ First son, first to dye.  _

Murphy steps back, spinning his knife in his hand and admiring his work. The words are carved into the side of the dropship, for all to see. If he’s being completely honest with himself, it’s a fruitless attempt to keep hold of what sliver of control he’s got over the rest of the prisoners down here, but it was also just plain fun to do, too. 

Except - the longer he stares at his handiwork, the more something looks off. Letters and reading never came easy to him, and he didn’t spend all that long in school, but something seems wrong. “Hey,” he says to Mbege, who always seems to be around, “this looks right to you, right?”

Mbege glances over it, shrugging. Right - he’s spent even less time in regular school than Murphy had, if Pike’s classes in the Skybox didn’t count. 

“You spelled  _ die _ wrong, geniuses,” Wells Jaha himself calls out, and Murphy rolls his eyes. Wells is everything like his father - too moral for his own good, believing that he knows what’s best for everyone all the time. When he looks at him, all he sees is the condemnation of his own father. He’d love to drive his knife through his heart. Maybe that’s not such a bad idea, he thinks, and his grip on the hilt tightens. 

He’s going to do it. He’s going to go through with it, truly, except then Wells walks by, ignoring them completely, and some part of himself stops him from following. Murphy sighs, letting the moment pass. He’s about to turn around and etch the letters in deeper, when another voice calls out on approach. “If you’re going to kill someone, it’s best not to announce it.”

“Oh, yeah?” Murphy says, turning and catching the eye of Bellamy Blake himself. It’s like he’s a different man than the one he saw on the dropship. He’s walking over with a kind of confidence that can’t be faked, that quickly turns into arrogance. He’s long since lost his fake guard uniform, and now he just looks like any one of them, except he’s asserted his power and no one is foolish enough to challenge it. Murphy thinks he liked him better when they first met - at least then, Bellamy acted like a real person. 

“Yeah,” Bellamy says, stopping right in front of him. Mbege steps forwards as well, staying just behind Murphy. 

“Right,” Murphy says. He can’t hide the smirk on his face, but he drops his gaze and steadies his grip on his knife. “And what do you care, huh?”

Bellamy launches into his tirade, then, about how the wristbands are signaling their life signs up to the Ark, and how eventually the people left up there will follow them once they see the ground is survivable. It’s true that Murphy doesn’t want the council or anyone else to follow them, but as Bellamy goes on another harrowing thought occurs to him. What if he were to die down here, and then come back to life? What would the wristband say then? Would they write it off as a malfunction, or would his secret be out? He shivers at the thought of becoming a science experiment for all eternity. 

“Fine,” he snaps, “let’s take them off, then.”

Bellamy smiles, thinking he’s won a very different victory. The wristbands don’t come off easy, but they figure a way to pry them off and soon they lay in a pile by their feet. Those on the Ark think he’s dead - permanently. What a blessing that must be. 

He realizes, then, as Bellamy gives him an easy smile, that through his action he’s handed over all the power he’s been trying to hold onto for a selfish reason and because someone was nice to him. It’s pathetic. He’d laugh at himself, if he weren’t so caught up in what this means going forwards. 

Yet - as Bellamy walks away, glancing at him over his shoulder to give him one last look, Murphy finds that maybe this doesn’t matter as much as he thought. 

* * *

He’s laying in the dropship, surrounded by the other delinquents, all of them attempting to find shelter from the bitter cold outside that seems to fall every night. They were not prepared for the ground, no matter how much Pike attempted to tell them. Still, the cold is not anyone’s biggest concern, not tonight. 

Jasper’s painful moans ring throughout the entire dropship, even though he’s on the upper floor. He doubts anyone is asleep during this. Jasper’s friend - Monty, he thinks - is standing at the edge of the crowd near the ladder, watching over everyone with a careful eye. Bellamy’s not there, and the group is growing restless. It’s going to get out of control soon. 

Murphy glances over, meaning to glare at the ladder and upper level in disdain, but what he sees has him scrambling upright in shock. There, right in front of him, is Death. They don’t have their throne, or their blade, but they stand with their head bowed in a black cloak, significantly taller than everyone else. 

Murphy’s breath catches in his throat, watching them carefully. Though they stand right next to Monty, he doesn’t react. In fact, no one in the crowd reacts at all. He realizes that they can’t see them, but this does nothing to calm the erratic heartbeat in his chest. 

Death raises their head. When he was in the between, he remembers that their face had constantly shifted between different ones, never settling on one appearance. Now, however, when Death looks up, there is nothing in the cloak at all. Where a face should be is only darkness, somehow all-consuming despite being constrained within the cloak itself. 

They pause, for only one moment. If they had eyes, he’s sure they’d be staring straight at him. With a silent movement, they raise a gloved finger to where their lips should be, and then they turn and start scaling the ladder up to the top of the dropship. Jasper continues to cry out. Monty makes no reaction. 

No one has noticed Murphy’s odd behaviour, all of them still caught up in the annoyance of the noise. He continues to watch Death climb, until they’ve gotten to the top of the ladder and disappeared out of view. “That’s it,” he whispers, more to himself, but he realizes the words have brought the attention onto himself. 

He stands. Death has a lot to answer for, and if they’re really  _ here _ , then he’s going to seize the opportunity. He’ll kill anyone who gets in his way. He’ll kill Death, even - at this point, he doesn’t care. 

Monty, however, reacts to this movement instantly and bounds up the ladder. “Octavia!” he yells, and Murphy curses, breaking out into a sprint for the ladder. He grabs onto rungs, climbing as fast as he can, but Monty’s got the advantage. “Murphy’s going to kill Jasper!” Monty continues. That’s truly not the plan, but he doesn’t have time to explain or argue. 

Right as he reaches the top and is about to pull himself up, Monty slams the cover down and holds it tight. Just as his view of the level is cut off, Murphy sees Death leaning over Jasper’s body, the black, inky tendrils of their cloak brushing over his skin. 

The cover shuts. He’s blocked out. “Hey!” he yells, banging his fist against the cover. It opens up, for a second, but Monty quickly pushes it back down, yelling his own commands above him. “ _ Hey _ !” Murphy shouts again. The impact of his fist on the metal rings throughout the dropship, louder than Jasper, even, but he keeps on going. 

What little give the cover had stops, and he knows they’ve blocked his entrance. Murphy tries a little longer, fruitlessly. Then, when this is clear it won’t work, he waits silently at the top of the ladder, hoping they’ll assume he’s gone away and lower their guard. This doesn’t work, either. 

He never sees Death leave, but on his descent, he keeps checking over his shoulder just to make sure they’re really gone.

Much later, when she’s returned from wherever she had taken Bellamy off to, he runs into Clarke. “Griffin!” he says, grinning at her while she just rolls her eyes and tries to shove past him. 

“Leave me alone, Murphy.”

“Can’t believe that the golden daughter got locked up,” he continues even as she walks away. This stops her, and she faces him, crossing her arms in annoyance. “You must have done something  _ bad _ .”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t kill anybody. I tried to save their lives.”

He raises his hands in a mock surrender. “And neither did I.”

“You were going to kill Jasper.”

His lips purse, briefly turning this over in his mind. “He lived,” he lands on, which is something he’s still not sure about. Death was there, ready to take him away. He guesses that if Clarke and her party hadn’t come back when they did, then it would have been too late. 

She shakes her head. “That doesn’t change what you did, Murphy.”

“Maybe not,” he says, “but down here, we’re both the same, aren’t we? You’re not any better than me.”

She’s regarding him carefully, looking him up and down. “I told you a long time ago that you can’t measure the ethics of a decision on its body count,” she says. “That’s still true.”

“Yeah?” he replies, and then it’s like the pieces of the puzzle in his mind fit together, and he understands the conclusion he’s been searching for. “Maybe death is a mercy. Not everyone gets that.” It’s not perfect, but it makes sense to him in this moment. Death is something he doesn’t get. He doesn’t get to know peace, not like that. He doesn’t get to have mercy. 

“Every life matters, especially down here,” she says, “even yours, Murphy.” And then she spins on her heels and stalks off, leaving him in her dust without even a chance to retort. 

* * *

In their defense, the evidence was irrefutable. 

He’d lost his knife days before, but he has no idea who would have picked it up and used it to kill Wells. Gazing over the crowd as they string him up and tighten the rope around his neck, he can’t single anyone out that could have done it. Fact of it is, they  _ all _ hated the Jahas, and everything they represented. The more he thinks about it, the more Murphy wishes he was the one to do it. 

Feels ironic that they’re stringing him up for supposedly committing a crime he knows they’ve all fantasized about, but there’s nothing he can do about that now, not with a rope around his neck and Bellamy approaching. 

He should be scared. He should be a lot more frantic than he is, but he supposes he’s been desensitized to death at this point - it’s not a threat. Despite the roaring of the crowd all around him, all he focuses on is Bellamy. Their almighty leader doesn’t look too happy to be here, either. They’ve been here for so long that the gel and product that had once slicked back his hair is gone, leaving it messy and curly. Murphy thinks he likes it better this way. Now that he thinks about it, it was pretty stupid before. 

It was all pretty stupid, before. 

Bellamy’s eyes say that he is sorry, but he hangs him anyway. The sound of his boot kicking the stool out from under Murphy’s feet sounds like a gunshot in his ears. In comparison, the sound of his neck breaking on his descent is nothing more than a silent whisper of finality. 

He dies in seconds.

_ “John,” Death says, “you need to be more careful.” _

_ Having died many times previous to this, Murphy’s growing accustomed to the way it feels. He’s slowly gaining some control over the process, and is able to speed it up or slow it down, depending on what he wants. Still, he can’t stop Death from pestering him each time they meet. “Stop calling me that,” he says, staring at his hands and willing them to start fading out so he can return.  _

_ “It’s your name.” _

_ “If you’re going to make it your mission to ruin my life, the least you could do is stop calling me a name you know that I hate.” _

_ Death laughs. It’s stopped being frightening, and is now only annoying. “And what makes you think I have ever had any control over your life?” _

When he snaps back to his body, he’s no longer hanging in the trees. 

This is good, he realizes, as his body jerks and his lungs fight for air. It would have been hard to explain how he survived if they’d left him strung up, but someone’s cut him down, and many others are yelling. Almost hilariously, nobody is paying attention to him as he stumbles to his feet, shaking off the haunting feeling of death that seems to sit heavily on his shoulders. 

He lurches through the crowd, pushing himself to the center. Maybe he understood why it was happening, but that doesn’t change the fact that the man he trusted to keep him safe tried to kill him, and that doesn’t make him any less angry about it. People part willingly for him, eager to get as far away as possible.

In the middle of the crowd stands Bellamy, Clarke, and - a child?

“I’m sorry!” the little girl is saying, and he doesn’t understand, but then he looks at the expression on her face, and the way that Bellamy and Clarke are staring at her in horror, and it all slides into place. 

The crowd is leering, watching Murphy’s entrance. None of them are sure what they should do, but all are bracing for what’s about to happen. Only now, in the tense silence, do Bellamy and Clarke look at him. “You’re alive,” Bellamy whispers.

He doesn’t dignify this with a response. He knows he can’t have been gone too long if this is still going on, and with everything else happening, he knows he can play it off. Instead, he stares at the little girl, whose name he doesn’t even know. “You killed him?” he says. The wounds have all healed, but he can still feel a phantom rope against his throat, and it makes his voice hoarse. “You killed Wells?”

Tears slide out of her eyes but she nods, her gaze turning to the ground for a moment, before she refocuses on Bellamy. “You told me to slay my demons,” she says, “so that’s what I did!”

“You  _ told _ her to?” Clarke cries, just as Bellamy’s eyes go wide and he shakes his head, hands moving in silent gestures that don’t mean anything over than he is very, very afraid. He looks from Murphy to Charlotte to Clarke frantically, knowing he’s wronged all three of them, knowing that he’s losing support of the public even now. 

“I didn’t!” he finally protests. “I meant - like, in her  _ dreams _ !”

“So what are we waiting for?” Murphy yells, anger overriding patience. “Come on, then! Let’s string her up!”

It’s funny how now, though they were so quick to agree to it before, the crowd doesn’t react. They only mumble to each other, shifting uncomfortably, as if they want to be released from the situation more than they care for justice. “Murphy,” Clarke says, “calm down.”

“Calm  _ down _ ?” he says, his voice low. “Calm  _ down _ ?”

“We can figure this out,” Clarke says, but the waver in her tone betrays her. She doesn’t know what to do, either. 

“Oh, I’ve figured it out,” Murphy calls. “She did the crime - she gets the punishment. Let’s string the little  _ bitch _ up!”

“Murphy, no,” she says, “that’s not - how we do things.” She doesn’t believe the words, even before she’s said them. 

“Fuck this,” he whispers, then, louder, “Fuck  _ all _ of this! You’re all just going to let her get away with this? You’re going to let them  _ all _ get away with this?”

He’s got a whole tirade planned, but when he spins to look at Charlotte again, just behind her and a little bit out of focus, he sees Death, cloaked and silent. The distraction silences him for just a moment, just long enough for someone to creep up behind him and clock him in the head. 

As the world spins and he goes down, he watches Death come closer and closer to Charlotte until they wrap her completely in their arms, and he can’t for the life of him figure out why. 

* * *

_ He dreams not of Death, but of the rope ending his life in mere moments, and of the knowledge that would it not be for his curse, he would be in the ground or burned to ashes, it would all be over, and it would be all thanks to -  _

Bellamy. He’s in the room when Murphy wakes, which feels somewhat ironic and also completely hilarious. Murphy’s head rings, but he blinks himself to awareness, seeing that he’s in the upper level of the dropship, the same place where Death had almost taken Jasper. Any remnant of that event is gone, and now it’s only himself, Bellamy, and the handcuffs securing him to a pipe on the wall. 

“Where’d you get these?” Murphy mutters, pulling lazily on the handcuff. His right hand is free, but he can’t go very far with his left constrained, so it doesn’t really matter. Bellamy’s leaning against the wall across from him. Upon his words, Bellamy looks up, the look of both pity and guilt so obvious and penetrating that it almost makes Murphy sick. 

“They came with the guard uniform,” he replies, dropping his gaze back to his hands. He sees now that in them, he’s holding a knife -  _ Murphy’s _ knife, the very same one that started this mess. 

“Thought you weren’t a guard.”

Bellamy laughs for a moment, but it falls short. “Doesn’t mean I don’t know how to use them.”

“Yeah,” Murphy says, letting his breath fall and the words stop short. “Let me out, then.”

“I can’t do that.” If he were anyone else, and if Murphy was just a little bit more naive, he’d believe that Bellamy felt just a little bit of guilt about that. 

“Sure you can. It’s easy. I’ll show you how, if you just give me the key.” As he pulls on the cuff to make his point, he’s reminded of when he came back to life the first time, and he’d woken up to being chained in the Ark’s infirmary bed. He may be on the ground now, but nothing has truly changed in his life. He’s always been someone’s prisoner. 

Bellamy just sighs, keeping his eyes on the knife, as if he thinks that if he stares at it long enough, it’ll solve all his problems. “The situation was volatile,” he says, “and Finn made a call. The  _ right _ call.”

He almost chokes. “ _ Finn _ ? Seriously?  _ He’s _ the one who knocked me out?”

“Yes,” Bellamy says. “You would have done something - killed Charlotte, turned the crowd against us. You know that’s true.”

Yeah, maybe that’s true, but it doesn’t make him any less pissed off about it. “She’s a  _ murderer _ . You’re fine with hanging me and locking me up, but she gets off for free?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“What about her, then? You have her locked up, too?”

Bellamy taps the knife against his open palm for a couple seconds, and then gently places it on the floor beside him. It’s way out of Murphy’s reach, but he doesn’t know if he’d grab it even if he could. Neither of them want anything to do with it. “You don’t have to worry about Charlotte.”

“What does  _ that _ mean?”

Bellamy looks him in the eye once again. There’s a stoicism in his gaze that Murphy’s sure is mostly fake, but seeing the way he visibly hardens his exterior in less than a second sends a shiver down Murphy’s spine. “She killed herself,” he says, very quietly, “with your knife.”  _ Oh. _

This doesn’t impact him as much as he feels like it should - maybe because he was forced to bear the punishment for her actions, while she gets nothing but peace - but still, he bites his tongue. “Why are you keeping me locked up, then?”

“We’re in a war,” Bellamy snaps, “with the Grounders. You’re too unpredictable, but Clarke’s right. We can’t kill our own.”

“So what? I’m in jail? Seriously?”

“We’re doing our best, Murphy,” he says, and then he softens, just a fraction. “I’m trying my best.”

“Try harder.”

Bellamy doesn’t respond. He only sighs and turns away, leaving behind one last look of pure remorse as he climbs down the ladder and closes the cover behind him. The room falls silent. 

He’s truly sorry for the hanging, Murphy can tell. He decides he doesn’t care. When he closes his eyes, he still hears the jeering of the crowd and the way his neck snapped, and he feels Death’s presence somewhere behind him, ready to steal his soul only to throw it right back. It’s going to take a lot more than some pitiful looks for him to forget that, let alone forgive.

He wonders if Death keeps a part of him, each time he goes to the “between.” Based on the anger and desire for vengeance that seeps through each part of him, he thinks that’s probably true. 

Instead of focusing on his own torment, Murphy stares across the room, letting his eyes land on the knife. He can just make out his initials, still carved on the hilt. Someone’s cleaned the blade, or at least tried to, but it’s still coated in the last remnants of red. 

Charlotte took her own life with that blade. It doesn’t feel satisfying, though he thinks it probably should. No, when he looks at it and thinks of her, he only wonders if she was scared. He wonders if she had any hesitation, or if she looked at his initials and thought of him at all when she did it, and for the first time but not the last, Murphy wonders where he ends and where Death begins. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> updates will hopefully be somewhat regular! thank you for reading, hope you and your loved ones are able to stay safe <3
> 
> you can find me on twitter @reidsnora! :)


	3. before the gust of death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> or under his autumnal frost,  
> Shall be as any leaf, be no less dead  
> Than the first leaf that fell,—this wonder fled.

They keep him locked up for a comically long time. 

Aside from the one person who stops by during the day to bring him food and water, which is usually Monroe, he doesn’t have any contact with what the rest of them are doing. He hears things, though - he hears them arguing about the Grounders, mostly, and the war they can’t seem to avoid. He hears Clarke get angry with Bellamy about something to do with a radio, he hears it when Finn almost dies from some kind of poison, and he definitely hears it when they capture a Grounder and start torturing him. 

Or, he should say - he hears his own people doing the torturing. The Grounder doesn’t say a thing the entire time. Despite being at war, this makes Murphy smile. 

Bellamy doesn’t come see him. Clarke doesn’t, either, though from the sound of it, she’s busy trying to keep everyone else in check. Whether or not she’s right is another question, but from what he knows about Clarke Griffin, she probably is - but he’ll never tell her that. 

Still, as the days go on, he can’t help but think he’s been forgotten about. Not even Death has graced him with their presence. A year ago, Murphy would have cheered at the thought, but now, he’s offended.  _ Now _ , of all times, he’s alone? It doesn’t seem fair. 

He’s getting close to losing it and breaking his own hand so he can slip it out of the cuff when the cover opens, sooner than he expected. “You’re early,” he says, expecting Monroe to emerge, but instead, he’s greeted by an unfamiliar face. 

“Didn’t realize I was on a schedule,” the girl says, pulling herself up and closing the cover to the ladder behind her. As she wanders over and sits in front of him, she gives him a sly smile, as if they’re co-conspirators in some grand plot. Normally this would be annoying, but there’s something about her confidence that intrigues him more than anything. Despite the fact that he’s apparently a dangerous criminal to be kept away from the masses, she doesn’t appear the least bit concerned. 

He tilts his head, waiting for her to make the first move or at least tell him why she’s here, but she doesn’t say a word. The more he looks at her, trying to figure her out, the less he understands. Her hair is pulled back into a tight ponytail, and she’s wearing a bright red jacket that stands out amidst the dull greys of the dropship. It’s her eyes, though, that get him - she always seems to be searching the room and the people in it for new information. It feels like she knows his entire life history just by looking at him, while he knows absolutely nothing. 

“What brings you to my home?” he settles on saying, theatrically gesturing around the dropship with his free hand. 

“The five-star ratings,” she says, not missing a beat. 

“Right,” he replies, unable to hide his smile. “And you are?”

He’s not expecting her to smile back, but she does. “Raven Reyes,” she says, “here to save the day, as always.”

His eyes narrow as he runs over his time in the Skybox, thinking of each and every prisoner that he had come to know. “You don’t look like a Grounder,” he says. 

She throws her head back in a laugh, one so loud and genuine it takes up the whole room. “What gave it away?”

“So who  _ are _ you?”

“I told you. I’m Raven, supreme mechanic, here to save the day  _ and _ you.”

“The rest of the Ark came down, then?” His heart sinks when he thinks of this possibility. 

“No,” she says, “Abby Griffin - the doctor, you know her - sent me down here in a pod that I fixed up myself. I  _ had _ a radio, but then your dick of a leader Bellamy destroyed it.”

So that’s why Clarke had spent far too long, in his opinion, yelling at Bellamy about a radio. From what Murphy knows about him, yelling is a waste of time - there’s no creature on the planet who could convince Bellamy that he’s in the wrong, no matter what he’s done. “That’s all well and good,” he replies, “but what are you doing here?”

“Well, when Clarke told me she had a dangerous criminal locked up on the top floor, I had to see for myself!”

He smiles once more, genuinely amused. “Dangerous criminal, huh? Did she tell you anything else?”

“Yes,” Raven says, “she did, and when I learned the whole story, I convinced her to get the key from Bellamy, and then give it to  _ me _ .” Upon her words, she reaches into her front jacket pocket and pulls out a shining, silver key. He knows instantly that it’s the one to his restraints. 

The air in the dropship shifts, the situation having changed. “And why,” he says, carefully, “would you do that for me?”

“Because, Murphy,” she says, and he realizes he never told her his name, “this isn’t the Ark.”

“So you don’t think I did something bad? That I need to be punished for it?”

She regards him carefully. “I think you didn’t actually do anything,” she says. “I think you were hanged, unjustly, and you were angry about it, and maybe you were going to do something, maybe you weren’t. But I think you scared them.”

“I was,” he says, and he’s lying, but also completely honest. “I was going to kill her, and then I was going to kill the ones that hanged me, and then I was going to kill Bellamy.”

“Sure.”

“I still might. You don’t know that. You don’t know anything about me.”

She laughs again. It’s so full of life, and so vibrant, Murphy thinks he’s looking the exact opposite of Death in the face. “I don’t,” she agrees, “but I like you, Murphy. So - do you trust me?”

“If you’re my ticket out of here, then yes, absolutely.”

Raven shakes her head in faux annoyance, and then approaches him, spinning the key between her fingers. Wordlessly, she slides it into the cuff and it opens up, freeing him. He rubs his sore wrist absentmindedly, keeping an eye on her as she takes hold of the key once more. “I don’t believe in locking people up for things that they didn’t do,” she states, firmly, and then she throws the key to the other side of the room. They watch as it skids across the floor and then lodges itself somewhere by the walls, out of sight. 

“Well,” he says, standing slowly on creaking legs, “I owe you.”

“No, you don’t,” she says, and with that, she opens the cover and descends the ladder, leaving it open for him to follow. He does, but not before he picks his knife up and pockets it once more. 

* * *

Murphy’s remarkably calm for someone who was just chained up for days on end, but he knows he must bide his time. He takes to staying inside the dropship, sitting near the walls and flipping his knife around this way and that, waiting for his moment. 

In fact, he clings so much to the walls that people begin to forget he’s there. Through eavesdropping, he learns what’s been going on while he was chained up - the Grounder they had captured, Lincoln, escaped, and they’d set up a video link with the Ark, during which Bellamy confessed and was simultaneously pardoned for shooting the Chancellor. Murphy finds it hilarious that there was no hanging in store for him for that crime. Most notably, though, is that the war with the Grounders has reached new extremes. Somehow, a village of theirs was burned, and they’re holding the camp responsible. 

He learns all this, and yet, he doesn’t really care about any of it. 

So much has happened, that when Bellamy found out that Murphy had been freed, he’d barely reacted. It makes him wonder why he was chained up for so long, if none of the others seemed to care. Perhaps it was easier for them that way - easier for them to deal with their guilt. 

So he lets the time pass by, waiting for his perfect moment. He could help the camp prepare for the attack they know is coming, but he doesn’t particularly care for any of them - except Raven, he thinks, who deserves a lot better than what she’s got. It’s why, when she and Finn walk into the dropship during one afternoon, in the middle of a heated conversation and oblivious to Murphy’s presence, he calls out, “He was with Clarke, you know.”

Raven stops and stares, but Finn grows angry. “Shut up,” he snaps, “you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Murphy raises his hands in surrender, but Raven had heard him say it. “You know that for sure?” she says. 

“Yep.”

“No, he  _ doesn’t _ \- Raven, listen to me, let’s go somewhere else.”

“No,” she says, “I knew it. I  _ knew _ it, and you told me that it didn’t happen.”

Finn throws his hands in the air, exasperated. “And I’m telling you the same thing now! Nothing happened. Murphy is a jackass who doesn’t know when to stop talking!”

“Maybe,” she agrees, “but he’s got no reason to lie, either.”

And then she’s gone, marching outside, and Finn shoots him one last dirty glare before following her. For the first time in a while, Murphy feels deeply satisfied - he thinks he’s done some good, this time.

Still, he thinks that nobody could care one way or another about anything that he’s doing, until the most unlikely of people walk into the dropship and immediately head straight for him. Murphy looks up and rolls his eyes, seeing the obnoxious goggles are still on Jasper’s head, and he’s still wearing that trademark goofy smile that annoys him like no other. “Hi,” Jasper says, still standing awkwardly over him. 

Murphy supposes there’s no painless way to get rid of him, and though the thought crosses his mind, he isn’t about to run him through with his knife. “Can I help you?”

“Not me,” Jasper says, “but I’m sure someone in the camp can use your help.”

“That’s great for them.”

Still, he’s not deterred. “Everyone’s forgotten, you know. About what you did during the Charlotte thing. No one is going to care.”

“I’m so glad to hear that everyone’s forgotten about how they hanged me.”

Jasper pauses, looking genuinely upset, and for just a moment Murphy feels bad about being so harsh. “You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Why do you care, anyways?” Murphy says, tilting his head and staring up at Jasper in a futile attempt to assert some kind of dominance even though he remains seated. “I tried to kill you, haven’t you heard?” This isn’t true, but he’s not about to attempt to explain the truth, that he was following an apparition of Death. 

“Well, I don’t remember that happening,” he says, “so you’re forgiven.”

Murphy’s brow raises. “That easy, huh?” He’d known Jasper before, in the Skybox. They’d never talked much, and while Murphy knew him to be a happy-go-lucky kind of person, he didn’t expect him to be so naively forgiving.

“I don’t care what the others say. I’m alive, right? Isn’t that what matters?”

Isn’t that what matters, indeed. “Somehow, I think the others would have something to say about that.”

In a perfectly timed fashion, just as he says that the sheet covering the dropship entrance is pulled aside and Monty walks in, eyes narrowing when he sees them. “Jasper, what are you doing?” he hisses, marching over and grabbing Jasper’s shoulder as if to pull him back. “He tried to  _ kill _ you!” 

Murphy blinks up at Jasper, saying  _ I told you so _ in his eyes, but Jasper still isn’t bothered. “I know,” he says, “and I forgave him for that.”

Monty glances down at Murphy, appraising him. The anger and discontentment on his face shows that he isn’t happy with what he sees. “I know that you think you can do anything after blowing up that bridge,” he says, completely turning away from Murphy, “but people like  _ him _ don’t care about that.”

“Oh,  _ you _ blew up the bridge?” Murphy asks. He’d heard about it happening, but he would have never guessed that Jasper was the one to do it.

“Yeah!”

“Congrats, man, that’s pretty cool,” he says, and he means it. 

Monty only rolls his eyes. “Come on,” he says, pulling Jasper away forcefully this time. “Unlike  _ some _ people, we’ve got work to do.”

“Have fun!” Murphy calls, giving a half-wave as the two retreat out of the dropship. Monty doesn’t acknowledge him, but Jasper turns back once more, smiling brightly as he leaves. They’re gone, then, and for only a moment, Murphy hates the loneliness that sinks into his skin. He thinks maybe he was wrong - Jasper’s not naive, or needlessly forgiving. Maybe he’s just authentically kind. 

Murphy settles into the silence, thinking about the interaction. He thinks of all Jasper’s been through, all the pain that he’s faced in mere weeks, and he wonders how someone can shine so brightly after all of that. He thinks that, if he can, he’d like to be more like Jasper. Maybe one day he could be. Maybe - but for now, he’s got his plan of revenge waiting for him to enact, and it’s getting tired of waiting. 

* * *

Clarke and Finn are missing. A search party went out for them, but they returned with less people than they left with - Monty vanished somewhere in the woods, and they couldn’t find him. Murphy doesn’t particularly care, but he can’t help but feel that Clarke and Monty deserved better than to die by a random Grounder’s hand in the woods, even if they didn’t like him very much. 

The Grounders are going to attack at any moment. The camp is weak, having lost three key players. While Bellamy and Raven are doing their best to keep it all together, they both know they can’t keep it up forever, and it’s apparent to everyone who is watching. 

He’s never going to have a better moment than this. 

He watches Bellamy, keeping careful tally of where he goes and when. He’s started spending his nights outside the dropship, claiming he’s ‘keeping watch,’ but Murphy’s pretty sure it’s a result of insomnia and anxiety. It doesn’t matter. He’ll be alone, and even if he has a gun, Murphy’s not scared of it, or him. 

So that’s how he finds himself creeping out of the dropship as the moon hits its axis and the stars settle over the camp, as everyone else sleeps for the night. Bellamy’s not hard to spot. He’s always stood taller than anything else around him, casting a shadow even in the darkest of hours. 

It’s not hard to sneak up behind him, either. He could make his move in the silence, and catch him off guard. It would be so easy to end it all, right here - but there’s no poetry in that, let alone vengeance. Instead, he settles on theatrics. It feels more cinematic. “For someone who says he’s keeping watch,” he says, watching Bellamy nearly jump out of his skin and spin around, raising his gun level to Murphy’s chest, “you aren’t paying much attention.”

There’s a second where Bellamy keeps the gun up, defenses still raised, and Murphy almost wishes he’d just pull the trigger, but then relief settles into his eyes and the barrel lowers. “Murphy,” he sighs, “what are you doing out here?”

“What are  _ you _ doing out here?”

“I’m keeping watch.”

He laughs. “If you were keeping watch, you would have heard me coming. I wasn’t quiet.” He was pretty quiet, actually, but it’s amusing to watch Bellamy squirm about it. 

“Alright,” he concedes, “you caught me. I’m  _ trying _ to keep watch, but - there’s a lot to think about.”

“About...Clarke?”

“And Finn, and Monty,” Bellamy tacks on. His facade is easy to see through - like it or not, Murphy’s always been able to read Bellamy better than any book. He’s scared. He doesn’t want to be, or know how to be, a leader to so many, and Clarke took a lot of that burden from him. If she’s dead, he doesn’t know how he’s going to lead them through a war that they didn’t mean to start. 

Murphy stays silent for a moment. The moment is becoming less and less theatrical, and he isn’t sure how he feels about it. “Is that all you’re thinking about?”

Bellamy laughs, turning his back to Murphy and staring up at the stars. This would be a perfect moment to strike. He’s got his knife in his hand, hidden up his sleeve, and his grip on it tightens - but he does nothing with it. “No,” Bellamy admits, “but I don’t know where to start with the rest of it.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, simply, stepping forwards until he’s shoulder to shoulder with the man he’s supposed to hate. 

“Why are  _ you _ out here?”

“That’s...complicated.”

Bellamy nods, far more introspective than he’s ever seen him. Murphy thinks that it may be beautiful, the way the stars shine on his face, but it also is not fair that he gets so much light all to himself. “I can understand that.”

“I’m sure.”

“I told you I was sorry, before,” Bellamy says, and it’s here that the shivers start running through Murphy’s body, and they don’t stop. “But I want to say it again - I want you to really know that, I regret it. I regret everything.”

The tension’s building. The grip on his knife steadies. “You are?”

“Yes.” Bellamy turns to face him, and Murphy does the same. The sun may have long since vanished behind the hills, but he feels like he can see every inch of Bellamy perfectly. “I shouldn’t have reacted how I did. I made the easy call, not the right one. I’m sorry for the hanging, Murphy, and even after that - I’m sorry for keeping you locked up. I didn’t know what to do. That’s no excuse, but - I’m sorry.”

The world around them falls away, and it’s just him, Bellamy, and the stars above. “You’re sorry.”

His eyes are truly pained, and somehow, that makes it worse. “Yes,” he says. “I’m sorry, Murphy.”

Murphy doesn’t break eye contact. He thinks of the power that he could have had, the power that he gave to Bellamy. He thinks that, of the two deepest betrayals he’s had in his life, the hanging was worse. In this moment, after everything, he knows that given the choice between Death and Bellamy Blake, Death is better, every time. 

Bellamy’s uncomfortable, shifting from side to side. “I’m sorry,” he repeats. 

He lets the blade slip downwards, grasping the hilt securely, and then he smiles. “That’s not good enough.”

Then, he lunges. Bellamy’s surprised, and doesn’t have time to bring the gun up. Murphy uses the element of surprise for as long as he can, throwing all his weight at Bellamy and knocking them both to the ground. The gun falls out of Bellamy’s hand, falling to a heap on the dirt. They both fall gracelessly, but Murphy’s putting all his energy into this moment, and manages to regain his senses faster, pinning Bellamy to the ground and holding the knife to his throat. 

He’s expecting some kind of reaction. He’s expecting Bellamy to kick him, to try to push him off, or even spit at him, but he does none of that. Instead, he just lays still, barely putting up a fight as Murphy keeps him pinned down. There’s a look of betrayal and resignation that is all too familiar to Murphy. Seeing this is satisfying in itself, but it’s not enough - it’s not what he came here to do. 

“How does it feel?” he hisses, pressing the blade into the skin of his neck. It doesn’t draw blood, not yet, but if he puts any more pressure on it, it will. “How does it feel to be powerless, Bellamy?”

It’s like all the fight has gone out of Bellamy’s body. He doesn’t look angry, or defiant - he just looks sad. “What do you want, Murphy?” he whispers. 

“I want,” he starts, but then he stops, the anger he feels in his chest too loud in his ears. He’s breathing heavy, he realizes, and he’ll blame the cold wind of the night for it, but there are tears forming in his eyes. “I want,” he tries again, “I want you to feel what I felt. And then...I want you to die.”

An eye for an eye. It’s justice for how he was wronged. He’s trying to justify this, even to himself. Looking down, he knows that Bellamy’s feeling at least some of what he felt. It wouldn’t be hard to push the knife down, to draw blood. After that, it wouldn’t be long at all until he was dead. No one would be the wiser. 

Still - he keeps stopping himself. He watches Bellamy’s face, hoping to force himself to get it over with, when he realizes that the light isn’t shining on it quite so bright. The stars are shining just as loudly in the sky as they ever were, but there’s a shadow over him, over them both. Murphy blinks the tears out of his eyes and looks down at himself, taking in a wet, shaky breath when he realizes. 

Death has come, enveloping themself around Murphy. His arms are Death’s arms - one moment, they look like his own, but the next, they’re cloaked in black and smoky black tendrils float around them. He doesn’t know if Death has come, or if he’s become Death, but he’s sure that if he looked at his own face right now, he’d see it was cloaked and hidden. 

He’s holding a life in his hands. He’s got the power he claims he craved, the power that he believed Bellamy had stolen from him. He wields a force of the universe, in this very moment. 

But then - he remembers what he told Clarke, all that time ago.  _ Death is a mercy. Not everyone gets that.  _

If he’s doomed to be forever joined with Death, then he will do so on his own terms. He softens his grip on the knife, then throws it away entirely, scrambling backwards and freeing Bellamy from underneath him. The light returns, softly and swiftly, as Death melts into the background. If he listens closely, he can almost hear them weep as they leave, mourning the loss of a soul they were so close to taking. 

Bellamy sits up on his elbows quickly, watching Murphy with careful breath. “I don’t understand.”

“Yeah, well,” Murphy says, but any further words than that just don’t come. He feels like he can’t catch his breath, like all the anger in his body is eating away at his skin, leaving him to be reduced to nothing once it has all burned out. It feels like he’s a million miles away, but also forever locked in this moment, and he’ll never be able to leave. He knows that leaving Bellamy to live with the knowledge of his sins is a worse punishment than the peace that Death offers, but it doesn’t feel like he’s made the right choice, not right now. 

“Murphy, I-”

“Are you going to shoot me?” he says, cutting him off. He’s still sitting in the dirt. 

“No, but-”

“Okay.” Murphy stands, unsteady on his feet. He stumbles away, leaving Bellamy behind as he scrambles to put distance between them. His feet take him around the dropship, which he leans against heavily, his whole body shaking in the wind. 

He blinks, then squeezes his eyes shut, unable to shake the feeling of Death and himself becoming one. When he opens his eyes, he sees the black cloak covering his body, but when he closes them, he feels the empty blackness overtaking his soul. He feels the emptiness and the loneliness like never before, and he thinks of how he’s melting away and Death is taking his place, and the anger hasn’t subsided and neither has the fear, or the anxiety, or the betrayal, and before he can try to shake any of these feelings he’s vomiting behind the dropship and praying that nobody wakes up and asks if he’s alright, because he truly doesn’t know how he’s supposed to answer that right now. 

If Murphy is Death, then he supposes he can’t fault Bellamy for killing him. After all, given the opportunity, he thinks he’d kill Death in a heartbeat, too. 

Once he’s steadied himself enough that he’s not visibly shaking anymore, he creeps back inside the dropship and lays down in his claimed spot, shutting his eyes and pretending to sleep. Much, much later, he hears Bellamy enter, too, and he feels him staring down at him through the darkness, but he doesn’t do anything to acknowledge his presence. Eventually, Bellamy gives up, and he pretends to fall asleep, too. 

Murphy knows he made a choice tonight, but he’s not convinced it was the right one, and he’s not convinced he should have been given the power to make it in the first place, either.  _ Who are you to ask for the secrets of the universe? _ Death asked him once, and he thinks now that they were right. 

Murphy doesn’t sleep at all that night. He doesn’t want to know what’s waiting for him in his dreams. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to everyone who has read this, and given kudos/comments! it means the world to me. 
> 
> can't promise updates are going to be so quick like this one was, but what can you say, i was inspired. hope you enjoyed it. please come talk to me on twitter @reidsnora! i'm nice, i promise. <3


	4. a tale of unspeaking death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who lifteth the veil of what is to come?  
> Who painteth the shadows that are beneath  
> The wide-winding caves of the peopled tomb?  
> Or uniteth the hopes of what shall be  
> With the fears and the love for that which we see?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've been listening to "when the angels sing" by social distortion a /lot/ while writing this fic. got some really good lyrical gems in there, so if you're wanting to set the mood, there ya go.

The Grounders attack. For once, his desire to take shelter in the dropship works out. 

Raven and Clarke had been working together on some kind of secret plan that they’d told everyone else about at the very last minute. All Murphy knows is that they were all to fall back into the dropship should they become overwhelmed by the attacking Grounders, so he does just that, only he doesn’t bother trying to fight them first. Personally, he’s on the side of the Grounders for this one - they  _ did _ make their camp in their land. 

He learned that, during the time he was locked up, Mbege was killed by the Grounders. This angers him more than anything, but the fact that no one thought to tell him makes him want to help his people even less. 

The hundred fall back, one by one. Murphy watches from the back of the dropship as outside, the Grounders slaughter their people. They never had a chance of winning, and he thinks Clarke knew that. Her whole demeanor had changed, once she and Finn had returned to the camp. He thinks that, for maybe the first time, she’d truly realized just how over her head she was in all this. 

Those that crawl into the dropship are wounded or terrified, or both. Murphy stays just where he is. Maybe he should do more, or help the injured, but he doesn’t move. Soon, Clarke and Raven have found their way back, standing at the front of the dropship like the leaders they’re trying to be. 

Death stands between them, taller than them both, leering out towards the Grounders outside, but keeping one foot inside the dropship as if  _ just-in-case.  _ Murphy sighs, then slinks back even further into the shadows, hoping to stay out of sight. He can’t think about it. Not now - not today. 

“Wait!” Clarke is yelling, gesturing frantically to the outside. The Grounders are coming closer, and while Jasper and others shoot bullet after bullet into the fray. 

“We can’t wait!” Raven howls back. They’re shouting at each other over the noise, as if Death isn’t right between them, as if they don’t even know the danger that they’re in. 

_ “No!” _ Clarke cries, but Raven assumes control and slams the lever, bringing the door to the dropship up. Before the door seals shut completely, one Grounder that Murphy recognizes as being one of their leaders jumps inside, and Death slinks out silently. Those at the front quickly turn their guns onto the Grounder, and she stills, realizing she’s severely outnumbered. 

The explosions outside are deafening. 

Murphy swears he can feel the pain and carnage outside as it happens. Death is not here, yet, he can feel the heat on his skin and he can hear the screaming from the Grounder army outside as they’re burned to pieces and their life leaves their bodies. It all quiets down, eerily quickly, and he lets out a shaking breath that no one notices. 

They’ve won, yet Clarke looks distraught, and Raven takes her hand away from the lever slowly, eyes filled with guilt. He doesn’t know what they’re so upset about until he scans around the room, seeing their numbers have dropped. They entered this war with just under a hundred, and he sees no more than fifty in the dropship. 

Octavia and Finn are not here. Murphy looks around the room again, more frantically this time, but he does not see Bellamy, either. The scent of burning flesh fills his nose and for only a moment, he allows himself to weep. 

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He was supposed to have more control than this. 

Silence falls outside. Raven and Clarke exchange a look, and then the lever is pulled once more, and the dropship door opens to reveal the carnage they have created. Even the Grounder that had jumped in with them abandons her fight as they all wander slowly towards the door, making their way outside. There is no sound except for their shoes on the dirt, and the sound of birds in the distance, fleeing the scene. 

He, too, makes his way forwards with the crowd, but he stays towards the back as he’s prone to do. Murphy stops, just as he reaches the door, placing a hand on the frame to ground himself. As he stares out at the burned remnants of the camp, at all the dead bodies on the ground that don’t look all that human anymore, he doesn’t realize that he’s not alone until Raven speaks. “You don’t want to see it either, huh?”

He’d laugh, if he wasn’t looking at a graveyard of their own creation. “Something like that.”

She’s staring off at her charred creation, obviously fighting the mass of emotions that threaten to tear her apart. “It worked,” is all she says. 

“That’s a good thing,” he says, trying to offer her some form of comfort because she did save all those that could be saved, but then he thinks about how Bellamy’s body is out there, somewhere, and he can’t add any genuinity into the words. 

Raven nods, tensely, but he’s not paying attention anymore. There’s a sound off to the distance, and then someone yells. He watches as some kind of canister is thrown out from the bushes right in the middle of the crowd of survivors, releasing some kind of pink gas that almost immediately knocks those closest off their feet. A man in some kind of suit leaps out from the bushes. More of their people fall. The gas is coming closer, snaking towards the dropship, going to reach them at any moment. 

He grabs Raven’s shoulder, pushing her back, but she just stares out in shock. He doesn’t think the Grounders have weapons like this, but whoever it is that’s attacking, they don’t stand a chance. “Come on!” he shouts. Raven snaps back to herself this time, grabbing a gun off the ground scrambling towards the back of the dropship and following Murphy up the ladder to the top level. There’s no time to close the door, not without alerting whoever is attacking that there are survivors inside. 

Raven hauls herself up the ladder and he slams the cover down. He breathes heavily, trying to process what’s happened, while Raven checks the gun she picked up, displeased by the amount of ammunition left inside. 

Neither of them say anything for a minute, until she shakes her head and reaches to open the cover. “We have to help them.”

“Are you crazy?” he snaps, blocking her hand. 

“They’re our friends, Murphy!”

“And they’re probably dead,” he says, feeling guilty at the way she recoils. “You saw it - they had a gas, or something, that took them out instantly. What are we supposed to do about that?”

She stops fighting him, reluctantly accepting that he’s right about that, at least. “They weren’t Grounders,” she says. “Those canisters - they’re nothing like we’ve seen the Grounders use.”

“So if we went out there,” he says, “we’d have to face the Grounders  _ and _ an unknown enemy.”

“What are we supposed to do, Murphy?” she says. For only a moment, she lets her facade break, and he sees her true vulnerability underneath it all. 

“I don’t know,” he settles on. He wonders if he’s doomed Raven by bringing her up here with him. The line between himself and Death is getting thinner and thinner by the second. For all he knows, he’s cursed her by having her in his presence, and soon he’ll start reaping souls just by being near them.

They sit in a tense, stifling silence, and Murphy wonders when it’s all going to fall apart on him, and if it’s all going to be his fault.

* * *

They’ve been up there for a long, long time when Raven finally speaks. “We should go out there.”

“It’s not safe,” Murphy argues, but when he says this a twinge of guilt takes over his heart. The fact of the matter is that it  _ is _ safe for him. Anywhere is safe for him. Yes, dying hurts, and in the worst case scenario he doesn’t  _ want _ it to happen, but he can take the hit and get back up again. He made the call to bring Raven up here and hide - if it was the wrong one, he can scout out around the dropship safely and amend it so that she doesn’t have to face the repercussions of his mistake. 

Yet - there’s still a part of him hanging onto the need to keep it to himself. It’s not like anyone would understand. They’re already scared of him, and this would only make it worse. And it’s not like the Ark or its people have ever been any kind of understanding. For all he knows, he’ll wake up strapped to a table and they’ll start taking out his organs one by one, trying to experiment on him and capture whatever power he has that made him this way. He’d give it to them willingly if he could, but it’s not as if they would believe that. 

“Safe or not,” Raven says, cutting through his mess of thoughts, “we can’t stay here forever.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, reluctantly, slowly and quietly moving towards the cover to the ladder leading below. He wishes he still had his knife. As it is, he’s unarmed, but Raven’s still got the gun that she managed to grab when they ran. “I’ll go first,” he adds, knowing that she’s a much better shot than he is. 

Raven scoffs, and he looks back, watching her carefully guarded expression and the way her hands shake only slightly. She’s scared, and she’s worried about her friends, yet she still maintains a brave face. “What are you planning to do, Murphy?”

She means well, but his utter lack of skill hits him in the chest. If only she knew. If only he could tell her. He thinks, looking at her, that he  _ wants _ to tell her - yet he just can’t find the words. “If they get me,” he says, “you have the gun for back-up.”

“Better you than me,” she agrees, and despite it all, she grins at him. With one last laugh, he slowly opens the cover as quietly as he can and climbs down the ladder. 

The dropship is silent. The door is still open, but the air outside is eerily still. He steps forwards slowly, making as little sound as possible. Each footfall on the metal ground is loud, too loud, but he’s never been known for his stealth. 

He makes his way down the walkway, aware that Raven’s in the shadows somewhere in the back of the dropship, waiting and watching. The fresh air hits his face and he can’t help but take a moment to breathe it in. Despite everything that’s happened here, it feels clean. He feels renewed. 

There are a few bodies around, Grounders who weren’t lucky enough to burn to ash or be taken away, but other than that the camp is completely quiet. “Hello?” he says, quietly. Not even the birds respond. He feels more alone than he ever has before, and while he didn’t think he cared too deeply about any one of the hundred, the ache in his chest suggests he misses them, and he’s scared that they’re gone for good. 

And then - “Murphy?”

There’s a crunch of dried leaves somewhere to his left, and Murphy spins around, only to see something impossible coming towards him. “Bellamy?” he whispers, stepping off the dropship walkway and onto the heavy earth. 

Murphy had been so sure he was dead, and from the amount of dirt, grime and blood he’s covered in he must have come close, but there’s no mistaking someone like Bellamy Blake. His heart flutters, and he smiles, and for a moment, it’s just the two of them and nothing else matters. 

For a moment, all he can do is stop and stare as he approaches, but then as he comes closer he snaps out of the daze he’s in and realizes he’s not alone. Finn’s with him, just a little ways behind, which he’s sure Raven’s going to be happy about, even if she’s adamant they’re not together anymore. And then, just a little ways behind him - 

“Oh, great,” Murphy mutters, watching councilman Marcus Kane and what seems to be the entire guard of the Ark approach and scope out the remains of the camp. 

“What happened here?” Bellamy asks, now in earshot. “Where is everyone?”

Murphy glances at Kane again, who in turn is casting an uneasy stare in his direction. “We’ve both missed a lot, huh?”

“Yeah, well - I didn’t want to bring them here, but I didn’t have a choice.”

“Everyone from the Ark is here, then? They all came down?”

Bellamy nods, and Finn closes his approach. It’s odd, but as the three of them stand there, it feels like they are somewhat equals, regardless of the power structures that had been so flimsily put in place before. “Yeah,” Finn says, “and they’re taking control.”

“Raven!” Murphy calls back, watching her slowly come out of the shadows and make her way over. “It’s clear, but - we’ve got bigger problems to worry about now.”

* * *

In the long run, it’s almost comedic how easy it was for them to break out from under the Ark’s imposed control.

Kane had locked the four of them in a room together, claiming that the Ark’s guard needed to get control over the situation, and they were too volatile a group to be trusted just yet. Murphy and Raven had explained what had happened in the dropship and how the rest of their people had been captured, while Bellamy and Finn told them their side of the story. They’d all come to the mutual conclusion that the Ark could not be trusted to lead them - they all knew how corrupt and unjust the council was in space, and they didn’t have confidence it would be any different down here. In their eyes, they were still delinquents and criminals. 

“We need to get our people back  _ now _ ,” Finn had said, and Murphy had started to get wary of the fiery look in his eyes. He’d never seen him so agitated, yet the whole time during their escape, he’d been angry, irritable, and completely on edge. Not even Raven could calm him down or get through to him. 

As it turned out, Abby Griffin had agreed with them. She’d unlocked the room, given them access to the weapons she could spare, and then told them where they could sneak away unnoticed. “You’re sure that Clarke is alive?” she’d asked, over and over. “You’re sure that she’s with the rest of them?”

“Wherever they are, Clarke is with them,” Bellamy had assured her, and Murphy found it funny that he was so sure of this when he hadn’t even been there to see them be taken. 

“Then go bring her home,” Abby had told them, before ushering them out and re-locking the door to the now empty room behind them. “Bring them  _ all _ home.”

So that’s how they find themselves trekking through woods in the middle of the night, only three of them armed. It’s not that Murphy  _ needs _ a gun to feel safe, necessarily, but he’d rather have some protection other than immortality. He wants that to remain his fallback plan. 

“If the Grounders took them, we should start by checking villages around here,” Finn’s saying, taking the lead and marching through the woods without a care for safety or sound. It’s obvious that Bellamy’s not used to someone else leading the group by the look on his face. If it weren’t for the severity of the situation, Murphy would find this amusing. 

“I don’t think it was the Grounders,” Raven cuts in, exchanging a look to Murphy, referencing the conversation they had before. “Their technology, from what we saw, it’s too different.”

“Yeah,” Murphy says. His opinion is mostly useless, and he knows he’s only earned a spot in this group because he was  _ there _ , not because they particularly like him or think he’s useful, but there’s no point staying silent. “They didn’t act like Grounders.”

Finn, though, is relentless. “It’s the Grounders,” he snaps. “We should have killed them all.”

“Whoa!” Bellamy says, catching up to him. He tries to lay a friendly hand on his shoulder, to get him to slow down just a little, but Finn shakes it off and trudges on ahead. In the distance, Murphy thinks he sees Death poke their head out through the trees, but he blinks and the apparition is gone. 

Bellamy, surprised by this, stops for a couple seconds before resuming his previous pace. “You know,” he says as Murphy walks up next to him, “he reminds me of you, when we first met. When did you two switch places?”

Murphy watches Finn, his rage so loud he can feel it in his own skin. There’s a good point, somewhere hidden in Bellamy’s words, but not the one he thinks he’s making. Sure, Murphy’s known anger, but he’s always been honest about it. Finn’s mask has slipped, now, revealing what’s been there the whole time. “I think,” he says, carefully, “neither of us have changed at all.”

He leaves a confused Bellamy behind him and picks up the pace, walking closer to the front of the group. Finn may be full of volatile rage, but at least one of them is being honest about how they feel. 

* * *

It wasn’t supposed to end like this.

His heels are digging into the dirt as he howls, clambering at the seatbelt that’s ripping at his palms. It’s slipping out of his grip faster than he can hold onto it. Finn’s doing his best to hold on, too, and Raven’s somewhere behind them, firing round after round into the hoard of hidden Grounders that are firing arrows at them. Bellamy hangs uselessly over the cliffside, holding onto both the seatbelt and the girl he’s rescued, Mel, with all the might he’s got. 

Murphy had tried to convince him otherwise. He’d told him it wasn’t worth going to get her, that she probably wouldn’t survive the trip back, let alone make it up the cliffside with only a seatbelt to hoist them up. Finn had agreed with him, and even Raven had begun to side with them. Still, Bellamy wasn’t having it. He had to play the hero, like always. 

“Hold on!” Finn’s screaming, as if they’re doing anything else.  _ I’m trying to, jackass, _ Murphy wants to yell, but he thinks better of it. 

Bellamy’s hanging at the end of the belt, and Murphy’s all that stands between his life and death, and all he can think is that it should have been him, down there. 

He had plenty of chances while they were trying the belts together to take his place and be the one doing the climbing. Mel probably doesn’t have a chance, anyways, and this way there would be no life lost that wasn’t already going to end soon. 

But then - there’s no way that he could have convinced them that he was the better option, not without explaining everything first. He trusts the three of them - except for Finn, that’s one he’s still not sure of - and while he thinks it’d be nice to tell someone, to finally be honest about everything, he doesn’t know if he could handle the way he knows Bellamy will look at him when he finds out that Murphy’s - well, whatever he is. 

He’s seen the betrayal in his eyes once before. He can’t do that, not again. 

Death creeps up over the cliffside, climbing up the ledge one cloaked hand at a time. “Fuck off!” Murphy cries. His voice is lost underneath the sound of Raven’s gunfire. Death edges on closer. 

The foghorn is blown, off in the distance, signalling acid fog coming their way. “We have to get to shelter!” Finn yells. The arrows stop, and Raven helps pull, but it’s still not enough. Murphy howls once more. He’s not about to let them all succumb to a horrible death by acid fog, only to wake up in a clearing and be utterly alone. He won’t - he can’t. 

Just when he thinks he’s about to lose it all, when he thinks that the belt will snap and absolutely everything will fall to the bottom of a cliff, Death crawls up next to him, grabs a spot on the belt, and  _ pulls. _

The weight lessens, the belt moves, and Bellamy makes it to the top of the cliff with Mel still alive in his arms. Bellamy collapses on solid ground, breathing heavily, but he cradles the belt in his hand and looks up, meeting Murphy’s gaze in the softest, most earnest moment he’s ever felt. Death sinks away into the shadows, floating off into the distance. They do not take any souls with them as they go. 

Several things happen to which Murphy takes very little notice of. Octavia’s the one that blew the foghorn and rescued them. She looks a lot different than he remembers, but it suits her, he thinks - with her hair braided and a sword on her back, she finally looks like herself. She and Bellamy reunite, and after that comes the question of getting Mel back to camp, or going onwards to find their friends. 

Finn, of course, soldiers on. Bellamy knows he must return with his sister and Mel, and Raven admits that her skills are more useful with their people. Murphy doesn’t want to go with Finn, he truly would give nothing more than to travel a little longer with Bellamy at his side, but he remembers what he was thinking when he had hold of the seatbelt, and knows that he has to continue on. 

“Someone’s got to keep him safe,” Murphy lies to Bellamy. The reality of it is that should they come into a tough situation, he’s the one who can come out of it unscathed, and if Finn were to find out his secret, well - out of all of them, Murphy thinks he’s the one that would care the least. 

Bellamy tosses him his gun, and for now, Murphy no longer has a knife to his throat and he is no longer watching him sleep in the dead of night. They are still at war, and they always will be, but now they are in it as equals. 

Murphy never did get his revenge, but he thinks this feels better than that would have, anyways. Maybe this is what it truly feels like to be kind. 

As he turns away and catches up with Finn, he wonders what it means that Death was so willing to come out of the shadows and help him. Death may be a mercy, he muses, but it’s able to save a life as easily as it can end one. 

* * *

Murphy was fine when they set the fire. He was fine when they were sneaking around the village, finding evidence. He was even fine when they found the jackets of their people, believing they would take them back to camp to show that they knew where they had been taken, and they could return with sufficient reinforcements. 

He is not fine when Finn takes the entire village hostage and starts screaming about Clarke. 

“Finn, let’s just go!” he cries, trying to shove him away from the Grounders and turn the attention onto him. Rounded up in the center of the village are mostly children and elders. None of them have put up a fight, and none of them are trying to attack. “They don’t know anything!”

Finn shoves him aside, continuing on his rampage. It’s what Murphy was afraid of - he’s become so focused on his one-track goal, finding Clarke again, that he’s lost who he used to be amidst the chaos and anger. He can relate to him, he can, but at least when Murphy sought revenge he only did it on those that wronged him. This is something else. 

“We do not have your people here,” one of the Grounders is saying. He looks like the leader of the village, but even he has surrendered peacefully. 

“You’re  _ lying!” _ Finn yells, and he raises his gun, firing a round of bullets into the air. Some of the Grounders scream, huddling together for security. 

Murphy knows that their two people have been at war, but this has passed the point of inhumane. “Listen to yourself!” he hisses. Still, Finn does not react. 

“You will tell us where our people are,” Finn says, slowly lowering the gun until it’s even with the village leader’s head, “or I will start shooting.”

Like a thought that will never truly vanish, Death slinks around the edge of the village, creeping closer and closer to the center where they’ve got the hostages. “No!” Murphy yells, both to Death and Finn. He will not allow anyone to die today, not at his own hand. 

Yet, as always, it doesn’t really matter what he wants. 

A young Grounder, no older than Murphy himself, rises from the group and makes a run for it. He’s not threatening, or attacking, but the sudden movement captures Finn’s attention and before Murphy can do anything, the trigger is pulled, a bullet fires from the barrel, and a child is dead. 

Death glides over and gently envelops the body, taking the invisible soul without a word of mourning. Murphy can do nothing but scream. 

The Grounders are screaming now, too. “He was a boy!” the leader cries. They’re seconds away from a full on assault. 

“ _ Finn! _ ” he cries, scrambling to get a hold of Finn’s shoulder and stop him from firing any more rounds. He watches in horror as his eyes go wide in shock as he realizes what he’s done, but he keeps his grip of the gun firm. There’s no telling what he’ll do next if he’s content with taking innocent life.

Bellamy was wrong, before - he and Finn are nothing alike. 

Death has not moved from their spot. From underneath their dark hood, Murphy knows they’re staring at him, waiting for him to make the next move. It’s then that he understands - it’s up to him if Death has a job to do here today or not. 

In the distance, he sees someone approach. He’d know that figure anywhere, but their blonde companion gives them away - Bellamy, Clarke and Octavia are there, meaning that all of this is for nothing. He could tell Finn this. He could tell him to look just a little ways off, just past the horizon, and he’ll see her. Yet, he doubts that Finn would hear anything that he says right now. 

It doesn’t matter - his decision is made for him. One of the Grounders jumps up from the crowd and runs. Finn turns to face them, gun at the ready. Murphy pushes him back with all his force, and he steps in front of the gun. 

Three bullets fire into his chest.  _ One, two, three _ . He doesn’t feel any pain. He isn’t even able to close his eyes to at least fake an image of peace. 

As he and Death leave the village together, he hopes that Bellamy won’t be too mad. 

* * *

_ This time, he leans against the white walls in the between out of anxiety. He can’t decide if he wants to fade out of here quickly, or take all the time he can.  _

_ Death taps their fingers against the throne, deep in thought. “I was not expecting your course of action,” they admit, “but I am pleasantly surprised.” _

_ “Yeah, thanks.” _

_ “You saved many, many lives today, John. More than you know.” _

_ He knows this, deep down, but all he can think about is what he will say when he is forced back into the land of the living. He wonders how long it will take for the rest of the Ark to find out, and how much freedom he’ll have left once they realize what he can do. How long will it take for them to lock him up and start their tests? How long until he dies over, and over, and over again for people that he truly has no loyalty to?  _

_ “Yeah,” is all he says, uneasily fiddling with the ends of his sweater. He now appreciates the clothing that he’s given in the between after he dies - it’s nice to have some comfort, even just for a little while.  _

_ Death sighs. “Things are about to get very, very difficult for you, John.” _

_ “They always are.” _

_ “I’m truly sorry,” they say, and, well, yeah. He is, too.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> big, big, BIG thanks to those who have left kudos/comments. charlie & oog, i know i have told you many times how grateful i am for all that you have said, but let me say it again: thank you for your beautiful comments. wow. never gonna be over them. 
> 
> come find me on twitter @reidsnora!


	5. what is this death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What is this death but a negligible accident?  
> Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?  
> I am but waiting for you, for an interval,  
> somewhere very near,  
> just round the corner.

_ Alex Murphy was a careful man.  _

_ In the mere moments between life and death, Murphy takes a moment to think about him. Now that he knows the truth, all the intricacies and neuroses of his father seem to make more sense. He was guarded, he was cautious to trust or talk about his life, and most of all, he’d survived an injury that most would deem fatal without sustaining a scratch. At least now he knows why that was possible.  _

_ Still, the younger Murphy wonders what possessed him to get caught. Why is it that his father chose eternal doom, of living for mere moments floating up in space before his breath was stolen from him once more, rather than explain the truth of their abilities to his son? How hard would it have been for him to sit Murphy down and tell him the truth, so he didn’t have to find out this way? _

_ As the between leaves him behind and Murphy feels the life slowly return to his old bones, he knows he could spend this time thinking of an excuse to use as to why he’s alive, and why Finn’s bullets did not kill him, but he discards this notion. He doesn’t want to hide this, not anymore, not if good can come from it. Murphy may not know why he has this power, but he’s now used it to save an entire village of innocent people - maybe he can do that again, someday, and if people know his secret, then he hopes that it will be easier to save them.  _

_ Alex Murphy was a careful man, who trusted no one other than his family, and even then, he kept the biggest part of his life a secret from them. He may have no family left, but Murphy thinks of all the people that are close to him, and he thinks of all the ways they have shown him kindness when he gave them nothing but scorn. While he doesn’t know if he loves any of them just yet, he thinks that it would be an honour to be truly known by any one of them.  _

_ A son is nothing if he does not learn from his father’s mistakes.  _

* * *

Murphy wakes up to darkness. 

This in itself has happened before, but it’s never felt quite as jarring as it does this time, as life floods back into his body like a storm that just won’t cease, and the memories of what happened fly into his awareness. Even though he knows the wounds have healed, his chest aches when he thinks of the bullets that tore through it. His body couldn’t have been an easy sight to see. 

There’s a sheet of some kind over him, he realizes, and even though his ragged breathing has shifted it slightly, the air around him remains still. No one has noticed his movement, not yet. As his senses calm, and his breathing quiets, he realizes he’s laying on something soft, yet sturdy - a stretcher of some sort, if he had to guess. The sheet on him is thin, and through it he can see the stars. Considering it was daytime when he died, he can tell this revival has taken him longer than usual.

Off to the distance, he hears voices. When he listens close, he thinks he can pick out Clarke’s, but then he’s sure he can hear Bellamy’s. He’d recognize his voice anywhere. Burning embers crackle in the night. They’re camped here, then, sitting by a fire, most likely on their way back to the dropship camp, or wherever the Ark had fallen. If he’s on a stretcher, then that means they were bringing his body back with them. That’s kind, he thinks, and it makes him all the more nervous for what’s about to happen. 

He can’t stay here forever, as much as he’d like to. The stars above him are beautiful. The air is so quiet, so still, that almost feels guilty for even thinking about disturbing the peace. Yet - even if he went back on his decision and changed his mind about telling them, there’s no way Murphy could pretend that he’d lived. 

So - he sits up. 

The sheet falls away, softly sliding to the ground. He hasn’t made a sound, and based on how silent the night remains, no one has noticed him. Slowly, he shifts his gaze to the right, seeing the campfire. It’s late, he knows, and at least some of them should be sleeping, but Clarke, Octavia, Finn and Bellamy all sit around it, each of them staring into the flames without saying a word. 

He takes advantage of the silence to study his friends. Are they his friends? This he doesn’t know, but he thinks he’d like them to be, after everything. He admires them, more than he’ll ever tell them. Octavia’s become a completely different person in such a short amount of time, exuding a level of personal growth that Murphy could only hope to achieve, and Clarke, she’s a natural born leader capable of making all the right decisions, driven only by a need to help other people. Bellamy is more complicated, at least to Murphy, but he’s a determined force to be reckoned with, who underneath it all loves those he cares about deeply, and like Clarke, only wants the best for them. And Finn, well - Finn made a mistake, but they’ve all made mistakes, and Murphy would be a hypocrite if he didn’t at least consider forgiving him. 

He gets so caught up in staring at Finn, that he forgets the dynamics of the situation until Finn looks back at him, and  _ screams. _

The others are on their feet in an instant, Octavia grabbing her sword from her side and Bellamy raising his gun. “What is it?” Clarke says, scanning wildly through the forest, until she, too, sees him. Even in the dim firelight, he can see all the colour drain for her face as she stumbles back. 

Murphy stands hesitantly, stepping off the stretcher with care. It’s nice that they made that for him, and he doesn’t want to ruin it. They’ve all noticed him now, though. “Murphy?” Bellamy whispers, eyes as wide as oceans. The gun slips from his grasp, hitting the ground hard. 

“You can see him, too?” Finn whispers. Their silence acts as confirmation, and a piece of tension leaves his shoulders. Ghosts are one less problem that he now has to deal with. 

He should say something. He should start explaining what’s going on, or at least try to calm them down, but he’s too caught up in Bellamy’s gaze. The pure awe and relief in them eases all the pain in Murphy’s heart. He feels like he’s finally found solid ground when he looks at him, and he realizes that yeah, he’s pretty happy to see him, too. Maybe, just maybe, revenge was a waste of time. He’s tired of playing the back-and-forth game they’ve become so accustomed to. A little bit of solidity sounds nice, now and then. 

“Clarke,” Octavia says, cutting through the moment, “he was dead. You said he was dead.”

“He  _ was _ dead!” Clarke snaps. None of them have looked away from him. “You saw him - I don’t - Murphy, you were  _ dead! _ ”

“Yeah,” Murphy agrees, “I was.”

This, somehow, does nothing to calm them down. He notices the way that Octavia’s still holding tight onto her sword, not quite convinced that he isn’t a threat. Clarke’s mind is moving faster than it ever has, trying to determine a logical or science-based explanation for how he’s here standing in front of them. Finn looks like the weight of the world has been lifted from his shoulders, and Bellamy - he doesn’t say anything, but he sees the tear that rolls down his cheek. 

And then, Bellamy’s moving towards him, scrambling around the campfire and grabbing him by the shoulders, shaking him just slightly. “I’m not dreaming,” he mutters, glancing at Murphy’s arms, legs, and hands before settling on his chest, where blood still soaks his shirt, a confirmation that what happened, truly did happen. 

“No,” Murphy says, “I’m here.”

“You’re alive.”

“I’m alive.”

He’s pulled into the embrace before he can fight it. Bellamy’s taller and stronger, and he can’t escape him as he pulls Murphy close, hugging him with a ferocity rarely seen. It’s warm there, in his arms, warmer than the fire. As he sinks into them, he realizes he doesn’t want to fight him, not now. Not about this. 

It’s over all too soon as Bellamy pulls back. “But  _ how _ ?”

“Right. So, about that,” Murphy says, “I can’t die.” 

They’re quiet again, for a long time. “What does that mean?” Octavia finally asks. 

“I can’t die,” he repeats. “I’m never, ever going to die.”

He doesn’t tell them everything, but he tries to give his story with as much detail as he can. When he finally convinces them to sit back down around the fire, he tells them about how his father led him to the conclusion, and then how he’d survived the fire back up in the Ark. 

“I  _ knew _ it!” Clarke interjects at this point. “I  _ knew _ something wasn’t right with that!”

“Why didn’t you say something?” Finn asks. “Surely the council would have helped you, or at least understood the situation better?” To this, he, Bellamy, and Octavia all roll their eyes. 

“They wouldn’t have believed me,” Murphy answers anyways, “and they would have wanted to experiment on me, or use me as a science project, so I kept it a secret.”

He continues on, telling them what he’s learned about his abilities along the way, and all the times he’d died since then. He doesn’t tell them about Death. He’d never admit this to anyone, but he’d grown somewhat attached to the spectral figure. They were his secret to keep, and the between was his escape and his escape alone after enduring the horrifics of dying. Moreover, he doesn’t tell them about his ability to see Death, even when in the land of the living. He doesn’t want to alienate them even more with this information. 

After he’s done his story and he’s said all he can say, he waits silently and patiently for them each to process the news. “Wait,” Bellamy says, softly, “you said you died, during the Charlotte thing.”

“Yeah,” Murphy confirms. He knows where this is going. They’re both speaking into the fire, rather than each other. 

“So, then - I killed you. You were dead.”

“I was, but I’m not anymore, so it doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does,” Bellamy says, and while Murphy yearns for the perfect words to say to ease his mind, they don’t come. He says nothing at all in return. 

Instead, he takes a moment to look at each of them as they sit around the campfire in loaded silence. Octavia, she appears calm and quiet on the outside, though what she’s truly thinking is anyone’s guess. She’d learned how to keep her emotions hidden a long time ago, and while this is different than anything she’s ever known before, this experience is no different for her. 

The relief in Finn’s eyes is palpable. “I’m so sorry,” he says when he catches Murphy’s gaze, to which Murphy nods. 

“The rest of the village - they’re okay?”

“Except for - the boy that I killed.” His voice breaks on the last word. The difference between the Finn that was about to massacre a village and the Finn that sits in front of him is almost too extreme to comprehend. Murphy wonders which one is closer to the real Finn. 

Still, he manages to tear his eyes away from Finn and continue on studying the rest of them, trying to piece together their reactions. Bellamy, he knows, is awash with guilt in this moment, but Clarke - 

Clarke appears to be cold and calculating, and while he respects her immensely, this in itself is terrifying. 

* * *

They make it back to the newly-called  _ Camp Jaha _ in one piece. The stretcher they leave behind, though, Murphy’s a little torn up about this, though he pretended it was fine. It was a nice thing they did for him, and he’d wanted to keep it, for a reminder that people are kind, if nothing else. 

“We’ll keep your secret,” Bellamy promises as they near the camp boundary. “We all know the council, and the people of the Ark, will take advantage of it.”

“Yes,” Clarke agrees, though he suspects her motives are not quite clear. “We do.”

Murphy sighs, picking at his nails to calm his building anxiety. “Thank you.” He knows that Bellamy’s newfound protectiveness is stemming from guilt more than anything, but he’s grateful for it, truly. 

He does convince them to let him tell Raven, however, and that’s how they find themselves in the engineering tent, where Raven was working on some kind of radio device with an engineer from the Ark, Wick. Once he was gone and out of earshot, Murphy told her everything, exactly the same way that he’d told the others the night before. 

“Sure,” she’d said at first, “that’s a good one, Murphy.”

“No,” he insists, “it’s true.”

She puts down the machinery she’s tinkering with and truly  _ looks _ at him, something he’s not used to, and he suspects he never will be. For a moment, she only watches him, trying to deduce if he’s playing a prank or just flat out lying. “You really mean it,” she says, finally. “You’re telling the truth.”

_ That was easy, _ he thinks, and a warm feeling fills his chest when he realizes what this means. She trusts him. It feels nice to be taken at his word like this. He’s not used to it. 

“Wait,” she says, and for a moment he tenses, before he realizes she’s turned her attention to Finn. “You were going to kill a village? A whole  _ village _ of innocent people?”

“I thought they had our people,” he says, but it’s a weak defense in light of what they know now. 

Raven sighs. “No,” she says, “you thought they had  _ Clarke.” _

Clarke’s eyes turn to the ground. Finn doesn’t deny it. “Okay,” she says. “I don’t want to see you ever again, you got that?”

“Raven, please-”

“No,” she says, cutting him off with a wave of her hand. She snatches some wires up off a table, fiddling with them so that she has something to do, productive or not. “Never, ever again.”

Finn leaves the tent. Murphy almost feels bad for him, until he remembers the young boy that he’d gunned down and the way the bullets had ripped through his chest, and then he thinks that Raven was too kind. 

“So you can’t die, huh?” she says once Finn had left. 

He’ll always be amazed at the way she can cut through tension. “Nope.”

“Well, aren’t you lucky.”

_ Lucky _ \- he’s used a lot of words to describe his situation, but never that one. 

* * *

Several things happen in which he plays no part.

Chancellor Jaha returns with a message of oncoming war from the Grounders, except he’s not Chancellor anymore - Abby Griffin is. In response to this, Jaha had begun talking about some “City of Light,” that people in the desert had told him about, and that they all needed to go there. Clarke, Bellamy, and Octavia find and cure Lincoln, proving that the Reapers can be saved. Clarke and the others have now left on a diplomatic mission to convince the Commander of the Grounders to grant them a truce, in exchange for the information on how to cure the other Reapers. 

It’s during this time that Jaha approaches him. 

“I require a favour of you, John,” he says, pulling him aside to the outskirts of the camp.

“From me?” Murphy laughs. “Isn’t this whole place named after you? Everyone here probably wants a chance to help you with whatever you want.”

Jaha, however, is unmoved. “I need  _ you _ to take me to your dropship camp.”

“Why?”

“I want to see my son’s grave.” And, well -how is he supposed to say no to that?

He lets Jaha take a weapon and then they leave, making the short trek to the old dropship camp that had since been deserted. Along the way, Murphy can’t resist the urge to ask him, “So what’s the deal with this city you keep talking about?”

Murphy’s in front of him, but he can practically feel the man grin. “Ah, the City of Light,” Jaha says. “We would be safe there. All of us.”

“Have you been?”

“No.”

“So you don’t know that it’s real, then.”

Jaha doesn’t hesitate, not even for a moment. “I know that it is.”

“But you haven’t  _ seen _ it. You can’t expect people to follow you to a place that nobody knows exists.”

When Jaha speaks next, his voice is soft. “It’s called having faith, John.”

“Yeah, well, when has faith ever done anything for me?”

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” Jaha says, and he sounds truly, deeply sorry for him. They make the rest of the trip in silence. 

When they make it to the graveyard, Murphy silently leads Jaha to Wells’ grave, gesturing at it without saying a word and then standing off to the side, letting him do what he came here to do. Yet - he stands in silence at the foot of the grave, saying nothing, leaving nothing behind. 

Eventually, Jaha breaks the silence. “He was too young,” he says. “Far too young to end up here.”

“Yeah,” Murphy agrees. This kind of thing has always made him uncomfortable, and he thinks it’s best to say as little as possible. 

“Laid to rest forever in a grave that’s too shallow, dug by the people that killed him,” Jaha continues. His expression remains still, giving no emotion away. “What a tragedy.”

“Yeah.”

Jaha turns, then, an all-knowing twinkle in his eye. “I suppose,” he says carefully, “it’s fortunate that you don’t have to worry about that.”

A bolt of fear strikes Murphy’s heart, sending his blood cold. “I - what do you mean?”

“Don’t pretend with me, John,” he says. “I know what your father could do. I know what  _ you _ can do.”

He realizes he allowed Jaha to have a gun, while he’s unarmed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jaha hums, looking back at Wells’ grave. “Your father told me, when we were both very young. I didn’t believe him, of course, until he survived his accident without a scar.”

There’s no point lying, not anymore. “You knew my father?”

“Yes,” Jaha muses. “Very well. A kind man, but often too rash - too decisive with his secrets.”

“He trusted  _ you _ with them.”

“He did.”

The truth of it comes rushing in all at once and Murphy’s fists tighten in anger. “You knew what would happen to him,” he says, slowly, “and you floated him, anyway.”

“I regret much of what I did,” Jaha says, “but anyone would have done the same.”

Murphy’s not processing any of it, not anymore. “You knew that he would survive, only to die, over and over again,” he continues. “You  _ knew _ that.” His heart aches when he thinks of his father, and how he’s probably still floating through space, trapped in an endless cycle, even now. 

“I was proud to call your father my friend.”

“Your  _ friend? _ You floated your  _ friend?” _

“I want you to come with me to the City of Light,” Jaha says, bulldozing right past Murphy’s anger. “We could use someone with your...talents, on the journey. It will be treacherous, but if you come along, you could save many, many lives.”

“Are you  _ insane?” _

Jaha merely hums. “You serve no one staying here,” he says. “The people of the Ark, they would be scared of you, should they know the truth. They would use you. You do not have a home here, not like you think that you do.”

“Good thing they don’t know the truth, isn’t it?” he snaps. 

“You know, John,” Jaha says, “you would benefit from a little more faith.”

Murphy lets out a long breath, and he thinks about snapping back at him, but ultimately he knows it isn’t worth it. Instead, he bottles up his anger and takes it with him as he storms out of the graveyard and back towards the main camp, barely even noticing Jaha following him. 

* * *

They return to camp without saying a word to each other on the trip home. Murphy regrets having taken Jaha out there to begin with. The former Chancellor having known his father, having known about their family secret, and still betraying them  _ both _ like that - he can’t wrap his mind around it. 

When he passes through the gates, Jaha somewhere behind him, his mind eases slightly when he sees the group who had been talking to the Grounders had returned. Clarke, Bellamy, Octavia and Raven are all huddled in a group discussing something, when Bellamy looks up and sees him enter, offering a wave and gesturing for him to come over. It feels nice, he thinks, to be wanted. 

It doesn’t last. 

There’s a  _ click  _ behind him and Bellamy’s face falls from excited to horrified in seconds. He yells something, and then he and the rest of the group start running towards Murphy, but he doesn’t know why. 

His stomach drops as he turns around, and sees Jaha pointing a gun at him, level to his forehead. “People of the Ark!” he yells, so loudly that anyone not already staring has turned to see what’s going on. Some of the guards raise their weapons when they see Jaha, but none of them fire. “This  _ boy _ has been lying to you all - keeping a secret that could have saved lives!”

“Jaha,” Murphy says, quietly, “please, don’t.”

“He has been cheating death!” Jaha continues, “And if he will not choose to help us, then we shall make him do so - and you will all see, the universe works in ways that are beyond us.”

He knows Bellamy’s still running towards them, but he’s all the way across camp - he won’t make it in time, or he’ll get himself shot first. “You don’t know that it will work,” Murphy says, one last desperate attempt to save himself from the fallout. “Maybe I’m not like my father.”

“Maybe not,” Jaha says, speaking only to him, “but I have faith.”

With that, the gun fires. The bullet lands in his brain, and Murphy drops to the ground, dead. 

* * *

_ “Do you think it’ll ever get easier?” he asks Death. Even here, in the between, his stomach is twisted in knots as he thinks about what’s to come. It was so easy, before - he was so sure that sharing his secret was a good thing. But now?  _

_ “I know much less than you think I do,” is all Death says to him, this time around.  _

_ “Somehow I knew you’d say that,” he sighs, “but that’s not very helpful.” _

_ “No,” Death agrees, “I never said I was.” _

* * *

He wakes with a horrible breath that tears through his body, forcing him upright. His senses aren’t working quite right, not yet, but he’s certain he can hear several people scream. 

When he blinks and the world comes into focus, he, too, wants to cry out. Jaha left his body in the dirt, surrounded by a halo of his own blood. He’s got his gun trained on the crowd, keeping them at bay. He should be easy to take out, but the guards seem reluctant to attack Jaha, given that his name is one of notoriety. All around him are the people of the Ark, gathered in a wide circle, all of them staring at him as life returns to him. 

“You see!” Jaha cries. “Do you  _ see?” _

Murphy scrambles upright. He wants to run away to someplace far from here, but there are no breaks in the crowd, and he can’t see an escape route. His anxiety heightens and he feels like the crowd is pressing closer and closer, cutting off his air. He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe, and they’re going to kill him, again and again and again - 

Someone’s at his side, throwing an arm around him and guiding him out of dirt that’s been bloodied by his own death. “It’s okay,” they say, and he knows now that it’s Bellamy - who else would it be? “It’s going to be fine.”

Murphy nods and lets him lead him away. He has no choice. 

Raven’s there too, he realizes, a gun in her hand as she forces the crowd in front of them to part. “I should shoot you  _ all!”  _ she’s screaming. Thanks to her, they make it out easy. 

Jaha’s still preaching, talking more about the City of Light and the secrets of the universe, but Bellamy and Raven keep leading him to the other side of the camp and into the engineering tent that he’d first told Raven his secret in. Clarke’s already there, a grim expression on her face. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, “but now that you’re fine, there’s something we need to discuss.”

Murphy swallows his pain and anger roughly, but he nods. “Yeah, I - what is it?”

“Not now,” Bellamy snaps, forcing Murphy into the only chair in the room and shooting Clarke an angry glare. 

“We need to talk about what just happened,” Raven agrees, “and what it means, going forwards.”

“It doesn’t mean anything,” Clarke argues. “It happened. Everyone knows. We can’t change that.”

“Clarke, do you  _ hear _ yourself?” Bellamy retorts. 

“Yeah, I do,” she says, “and I know that forty-six of our people are still trapped in Mount Weather, and  _ he _ can help us save them, especially now that everyone knows.”

Outside of the tent, voices are growing louder. Jaha’s bringing the Ark citizens after them, and soon, Murphy won’t be able to escape again. “He’s barely off the ground,” Bellamy says, his voice quiet. 

“I  _ know _ !” she snaps. “If there was a better opportunity, I’d take it. Do you see one? Do you see a better choice here, Bellamy?”

He’s quiet. Raven is, too. Only now does Clarke look at him, an acknowledgement that he’s actually in the room. “We need an inside man in Mount Weather,” she says. There are bags under her eyes and she looks exhausted. Despite what she’s saying, Murphy feels sorry for her. “Someone to disable the acid fog. Since you can’t die...you’re perfect for the job.”

“You can say no,” Raven cuts in. “Or we can wait, and figure  _ this _ situation out, first.”

“Sure,” Clarke fires back, “I’ll just tell Mount Weather to please  _ wait _ and not slaughter our people for a few days.”

The voices grow louder outside. He still feels like he’s not truly there, like this isn’t happening to him - he’s spent so long hiding this secret, it’s not possible that it’s been stolen from him, and that he’s been exposed on someone else’s terms. It’s not possible. Except - he sees the sad look Bellamy’s giving him, and he knows everything is very, very wrong. 

Murphy doesn’t owe them anything. He has no reason to agree to this. Most likely, he’ll die in Mount Weather many, many times, and he’ll fail the mission and get everybody killed. Sending him in is dooming everybody else in that mountain. 

_ He has been cheating death, _ Jaha had said.  _ If he will not choose to help us, then we shall make him do so. _

Maybe it was selfish of him to keep this secret. Maybe he could have saved more lives by being honest. Maybe, just maybe, by nature of this power that he’s been given, he  _ does _ owe them. 

All this time, he’s been searching for a purpose, when maybe one was right in front of him all along. Maybe he’s been meant to be the martyr. 

Clarke’s cold in her tone, but she’s also right, and when he looks at Bellamy once more, who seems to understand just what he’s asking here, he can’t refuse them. “Okay,” he says, “send me in.”

Bellamy sighs, leaning heavily against the table. It’s not his life on the line, yet he seems to be in mourning. “It’s going to be okay,” he repeats, not to anyone else, but only meaning to convince himself.

How nice it must be to believe that, Murphy thinks. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i want to thank everybody who left such lovely comments on the last chapter, seeing those really made my day! thank you! i wish i had better words to say how much i appreciate it, but you all have left me speechless :) just know that they filled my heart so thank you!!
> 
> as always, i'm on twitter @reidsnora. hope you all are staying as safe as you can. <3


	6. death shall have no dominion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And death shall have no dominion.  
> Under the windings of the sea  
> They lying long shall not die windily;  
> Twisting on racks when sinews give way,  
> Strapped to a wheel, yet they shall not break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> quick note - this is a fic that takes place in the canon universe, yes, but not all details are 100% accurate. at its core, it's a murphy character study, so things happening around that might not be (and probably won't be) completely true to the show. it's been a long time since i've seen early seasons.

The tension inside the engineering tent is thick. It’s getting to the point that he’s sweating under lights that aren’t there, and he thinks it might be easier to face the roaring crowd outside rather than sit in here one more minute. 

“So, Mount Weather,” Murphy says, trying to ease the situation for his own sake. “What’s the deal there?”

Clarke glances up at him, unimpressed, but it’s Raven who answers. “They’re the ones who captured our people after the battle with the Grounders,” she says, “and we’re going to break them out, now that we’re in an alliance with the Commander.”

“Lexa,” Clarke says, “her name is Lexa.”

Raven pauses, looking Clarke up and down, trying to figure her out, but then she shakes her head and turns her attention back to him. “Whatever - Commander Lexa, then.”

“And I’m going to disable the acid fog,” he continues. He knows the plan, but repeating it helps calm his swelling nerves. 

“Right,” Raven says. “You’ll go in with Lincoln - he can take you through the tunnels.”

He nods, going over the details for the thousandth time in his head. Raven’s keeping him calm by obliging his requests to go over them, but he still feels agitated, like any second something is going to go horribly wrong. Any second now, someone from the camp will burst inside and shoot him in the head,  _ again, _ because it seems that’s all he’s good for these days.  _ Come see the circus, starring John Murphy, the man who can’t die! _

This makes him laugh softly, and when he looks up, Bellamy’s smiling at him. There’s a twinkle in his eye and his mouth is upturned at the corner, just slightly. “It’s nice,” he says, very softly, “to see you smile.”

Clarke stands abruptly, her chair skidding background and silencing everyone else. “Yeah,” she says, “because this is all  _ so _ funny.”

“Clarke, please,” Raven says, but it’s of no use. 

“Maybe you would know the plan, Murphy,” Clarke continues, burning two holes in him with her eyes, “if you were actually around while  _ we _ were doing all the diplomacy these last few weeks. But you weren’t - you were off making nice with Jaha, and look how that turned out for all of us.”

“I didn’t know that he would  _ shoot me!” _

“You wouldn’t have been in that position at all if you were actually using your abilities to help us, though, now would you?”

He blinks, stunned. What’s he supposed to say to that? “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, I am, too,” she says. “I gave you the benefit of the doubt, Murphy, because I hadn’t truly understood what it is that you could do, or what that means for us. But now I understand. But even now, you’re being selfish like you always have been, and you’re not doing anything to help your own people survive.”

“Clarke, that’s not fair,” Bellamy says, “and you know that.”

She scoffs. “No, what I  _ know _ is that now instead of only Mount Weather, we have an angry mob to deal with, and an ex-Chancellor who just went rogue!”

“I’m sorry,” Murphy says, again, but no one pays him any mind. 

The entrance flap of the tent bursts open and Octavia enters, her eyes stormy as she glances over each of them. “Finn’s trying to do some crowd-control,” she says, “but it’s not going to last.”

“ _ Finn _ ?” Raven repeats, incredulous. 

“Yeah,” Octavia says. “He’s got some people on his side, and he’s trying to use that, but after what everyone just saw Murphy do - he’s not going to be able to convince them to leave him alone forever.”

Still, Raven’s not having it. “How did  _ Finn _ manage to get people ‘on his side?’ He’s a murderer.”

_ One, two, three, he can feel the bullets tear him to pieces before he hears the gunfire. He’s been ripped to shreds and he burns, he’s burning even still -  _

Clarke starts to speak and he’s thrust back into the present, desperately trying to shake the memory of his previous death. “Because he killed a Grounder,” she says, her voice low. “Most of the people from the Ark consider the Grounders the enemy, and some want to continue the war.” The subject of her words is harrowing at best, yet she delivers them coolly, without emotion. 

Murphy wonders, for a moment, what brought Clarke to this point of detachment. She’s a completely different person than she was back on the Ark, all that time ago. Sure, back then she’d been in everybody’s business and never knew when to keep to herself, but she’d always believed people were fundamentally good, and she carried a hopeful spark that he’d never seen anyone else have. He wonders just how much weight she took onto her shoulders before that spark was snuffed out. 

“We have to do something,” Bellamy says, “before Jaha storms in here and shoots him again.”

Clarke’s silent, but then she turns her steely gaze towards him. Regardless of how he feels about her now, he’s relieved she’s always got a plan. “You have to go out there,” she says to him, “and you have to convince them that you’re on their side.”

_ “What?” _ Raven and Bellamy cry in unison. 

“No, Clarke’s right,” Octavia counters, “that’s smart.”

“Think about it,” Clarke says. Gone is the anger, and in its place, only calculations. “Jaha’s got them riled up, but if you go out there and  _ agree  _ with him, and say that you’ll help them in any way you can, then - maybe they’ll back off.”

Murphy sighs, and then he stands, staring nervously at the flaps of the tent. “Yeah. Maybe.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Bellamy says, reaching forwards and grabbing Murphy’s arm. At any other time, in any other situation, this might have been nice and reassuring - but not now. 

“No, I do,” he says. “I should have done that a long time ago.”

Bellamy’s standing closer now, the hold on his arm tighter, the distance between their bodies almost nothing. “You don’t have to listen to Clarke,” he whispers. “Murphy,  _ please _ \- I don’t want you to get hurt.”

He wants to stay here, in this moment with Bellamy. He doesn’t want to leave his side, yet Clarke’s voice fills his mind nonetheless.  _ You’re being selfish like you always have been. You’re not doing anything to help your own people survive. _

He’ll go into Mount Weather. He’ll face an angry mob, because if he doesn’t, then someone he loves will take his place, and as he gently removes Bellamy’s hand from his arm, he knows he can’t let that happen. 

Without another word, he walks out of the tent. 

The crowd’s a lot closer than he thought they were, and as they catch sight of him, those towards the front rush towards him, yelling things he can’t decipher. Somewhere in the middle of it, standing still as everyone around him runs forwards and screams, Jaha stands tall, unmoving, his arms crossed and a smile on his face. He knows exactly what he’s done - and he’s happy about it. 

“ _ Wait! _ ” cries someone close to him, and there’s Finn waving his arms in the air, trying to calm them down, but whatever hold he had on them is lost now that Murphy’s shown his face. 

His heart races, and panic flares beneath his skin. It’s not cold outside but suddenly he’s shivering and he can’t pull himself together. He’s not ready for this. He’s no leader. Murphy has never petitioned to get people on his side, because he’s never wanted anyone on his side, let alone had the opportunity to do so. Just when he thinks he’s going to lose it and run out of camp and leave it all behind - 

There’s Bellamy, standing at the entrance to the tent. He nods, firmly, just once. For a second, it’s just him and Bellamy there, and the rest of the world falls away. It’s just him and Bellamy. Murphy takes a deep breath, feeling the pain in his bones subside, and he nods back. 

“People of the Ark!” he yells at the top of his lungs, watching as Jaha raises an eyebrow, his smug expression turning into one of curiosity. Finn, too, is staring at him with wonder as he slowly falls silent and lowers his arms. “People of the Ark,” he says, again, and then he starts walking forwards right at the crowd. When he comes close, they part, mostly out of fear. This doesn’t affect him as much as he thought it might - if they’re afraid of him, it makes his job a lot easier. 

Before long, he’s at the center of the crowd, practically next to Jaha, and all the voices around him have fallen silent. He takes a moment to let the silence sink in, so that all eyes are on him. “I have wronged you,” he starts off, watching as those closest murmur questioning words to each other. “Jaha is right - I have been hiding something from you, which you have all now seen with your own eyes.”

Murphy’s never spoken like this before. He’s doing his best to mimic what a Chancellor or council member would say, and he prays that it’s working. Maybe he’d never finished school, but he had learned how to  _ sound _ smart. “I should have been using my... _ ability _ to help you all,” he continues, “but I was selfish, and I kept it to myself. That was wrong of me. I know now that I should be using it to help save lives.”

“Yeah!” several people in the crowd agree, the low murmurs turning in his favour. 

“I will be helping Clarke with her plan to free our people from Mount Weather,” he finishes, “and I will do whatever it takes to get them out - even if it kills me, many times over.”

Jaha steps out from behind him, and Murphy’s stomach drops.  _ He can hear a click behind him, and there’s a bullet tearing through his brain, ripping apart everything that he is -  _ no. He has to focus. 

“Citizens,” Jaha says, “do you truly trust the word of a boy who has kept this from you, all this time? I have demonstrated to you that there are higher powers that work beyond our understanding. While this boy has proved unreliable, you can trust what you have seen with your own eyes, and you can use this newfound knowledge to come with me and find the City of Light.”

Someone near them steps forwards, separating themselves from the crowd. “What we have seen with our eyes is you shooting this boy,” he says. “I don’t know anything about higher powers, but I know that if he’s going to help free the children trapped in Mount Weather, then we should let him.”

Jaha tenses, taken aback. “Well, surely-”

“No,” someone else says. “If he can do... _ whatever _ it is that he can do, then we should use that to our advantage.”

“The angel of death,” a third voice says, and then louder - “The angel of death is going to save us all!”

Slowly, the rest of the crowd ripples in agreement, turning to Murphy’s favour. Several of them repeat ‘ _ the angel of death _ ,’ over and over, like a thoughtless battle cry.“I see,” Jaha says. “Any of you who have seen sense, I invite you to find the City of Light with me. We leave tomorrow.”

“Thank you all,” Murphy says, cutting off Jaha’s last few words. Even though they’re agreeing with him, the crowd suddenly seems very, very large and stifling. As he walks back towards the engineering tent, Jaha doesn’t move, and every step becomes harder.  _ Any second now, he’s going to lift his gun and shoot him in the leg, the back, the head. He’s going to kill you, because you made him angry, and he won’t get in any trouble for it.  _

Even though they let him part once more, nobody in the crowd looks friendly as he passes through it.  _ They’re going to kill you, too. Any of them could, at any moment - for revenge, for justice, for a laugh.  _

He makes it out the other side, still walking with his head up high, but he’s trembling. Finn comes towards him but he shoves right by him without a word, pushing the flaps to the engineering tent to the side and entering in silence. 

They all stand upon his entrance. “Well?” Clarke says. “How’d it go?”

Murphy doesn’t answer her. Instead, he sits down in the closest chair, pulls his knees up to his chest, and cries. 

* * *

Eventually, they all leave, except for Bellamy. He stays. He always stays. 

“They’re calling me the angel of death,” Murphy chokes, once the sobs have subsided. He frantically wipes the tears from his cheeks, embarrassment and shame joining hands with the anxiety that still wrestles in his chest. “How twisted is that?”

“I don’t know,” Bellamy says, “there are worse things they could say.” He’s pulled up a chair next to the one Murphy laid claim to, and his hand hasn’t left Murphy’s back the whole time. Even now, he continues to rub careful, calming circles against the material of his jacket. Murphy knows he’s doing it out of guilt, but he isn’t going to say that - he doesn’t want him to stop. 

“Yeah,” he whispers, “I guess.”

They sit in silence for a moment, until Bellamy shifts awkwardly. “Can I - Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah.”

“Does it hurt?”

His chest tightens, almost reflexively so. If he thinks about it hard enough, he can still feel the smoke coating his lungs, and the light fixture that had crushed his back and claimed his life the first time, way back on the Ark. “Yes,” he says, “for a little.”

Bellamy inhales sharply, but the hand never leaves his back. “Is it scary?”

_ Not in the way you’re thinking, _ he wants to say, but he settles on a simple, “Yes.”

“Then - we can’t ask you to do this,” Bellamy decides, his voice soft. “Not if it’s like that. This is too cruel.”

“Don’t be stupid.”

His eyes narrow. “ _ You _ don’t be stupid. Don’t put yourself in that situation, not if it’s like that for you.”

“There’s no other choice. You heard Clarke.”

“Clarke doesn’t know everything.”

“Maybe not, but she’s right about this.”

Bellamy swallows. “I don’t want you to get hurt, Murphy.”

“It’s fine,” he says, “I might get hurt, but it won’t ever last.”

“It doesn’t?”

And, well, no - that’s not true. It does. He can still feel it, for days, months, even years afterwards. When he thinks about the smoke, he starts to choke, and when he thinks about Finn or Jaha with the gun, he feels the wounds all over again. “It doesn’t,” he lies, anyways. 

He’s saved from having to lie anymore when Clarke and Lincoln enter the tent. “Oh, hi,” Murphy sighs, knowing what this means. 

“Be careful, okay?” Bellamy says, and then he stands and pulls Murphy to his feet with him. 

“We’ve got to move now,” Clarke says. “My mom isn’t happy about what went down today, and she wants you to stay here - so we’ve got to get our plan going before she even realizes - and then I’ve got to go with our delegation to the Tondc peace summit. It’s now or never.”

“Isn’t it always?” he says. 

She either doesn’t care, or pretends not to hear him. “Lincoln will guide you through the tunnels. Once you’re inside, radio us, and Raven will help you disable the acid fog, and then we’ll send the army in.”

Lincoln takes this moment to step forwards and nod formally at him. “I have not had the chance to thank you yet,” he says. “You saved my village.”

Murphy hadn’t known that was  _ his _ village, so he nods back out of respect, but he knows he doesn’t deserve the thanks. When he thinks about that day, all he thinks is of the innocent boy that Finn did kill, and how if he’d acted just a little quicker, maybe he could have saved them all. 

“Let’s get going, then,” Murphy says. “No time to waste, right?”

Clarke looks at him, sighing. “I’m sorry for what I said before,” she says. “I’m just...there’s a lot going on, you know?”

Her voice breaks on the last word, despite all she said, he feels genuine sympathy for her. “It’s fine,” he promises, “you were right, anyways.”

“That doesn’t make it right,” she says, “but you’re right. No time to waste.”

They run through the plan one more time, and then they’re off, leaving the tent and sneaking out of the back of camp so as not to alert anyone. Bellamy comes with him until they reach the outskirts. 

Murphy looks back at him, just once, as they part. He’s expecting Bellamy to rush forwards and give him a hug, or grab his arm and try to stop him, or do something else physical like he’s so prone to do. Instead, though, he just stares at Murphy with the widest, most vulnerable eyes he’s ever seen. “Come back, okay?” he says, voice thick with emotion. 

“I will.”

“No,” Bellamy says, “come back for  _ me _ .”

Murphy smiles, and the sun shines just a little brighter. “Okay,” he agrees, and then he turns and follows Lincoln through the trees, leaving Bellamy behind. 

* * *

The plan falls apart before they even make it in the mountain. 

Lincoln may have been cured from his Reaper state, but as it turns out, the traces of addiction are still there. As soon as he hears the tone used to control them, he loses it, blowing their cover. They’re captured almost instantly. Lincoln is brought somewhere, presumably going to be turned back into a Reaper once more, while Murphy and a few others are taken somewhere else, stripped of their clothes, chained and hosed down. 

It doesn’t take long at all for him to end up in the cage. 

There are rows and rows of them, stacked on top of each other, each of them with barely enough room to hold a person. He’s never been the tallest, but even he struggles with the lack of space. All the cages seem to be filled with Grounders - he can’t see any of the forty-six he’d come to save, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there, or already dead. At the end of the rows, there are two Grounders hanging upside down, tubes sticking out of them, sucking their blood out of their bodies. 

Clarke had said that they were going to use their blood for their own gain, but seeing it in person makes it so much worse, and much more real. That’s what the twisted people in this mountain are going to do, or have already done, to his people - his friends. And now he can’t even do anything about it, trapped in this tiny, dirty cage. 

If it weren’t for the conditions, he’d laugh. Of course the plan had been wrecked on its first step. If only Clarke could see him now. 

He kicks at the cage door, because he can. It doesn’t budge, yet he kicks at it again, the lock rattling against the metal bars and echoing through the whole room. 

Someone near him hisses. He looks to his right, and sees a Grounder woman curled up against the back of her cage, whispering something to him in the Grounder language - what was it called? Trig-something. Based on her disheveled and thin appearance, she’s been in here a while.

He hesitates as she stares at him, but then finally answers. “I don’t speak Grounder.”

Her brow raises, and he thinks he catches a hint of a smile. “Be quiet,” she says, “or they’ll pick you, next.”

“What do you mean?” he says. 

“They take the strongest,” she says, “and then they drain them.”

“They do, huh?” he says, an idea forming in his mind. It’s a stupid, reckless one - an idea that, if he heard it, Bellamy would immediately tell him  _ not _ to do, but the more he thinks about it, the more he’s sure that that’s why it will work. “What’s your name?” he says to the Grounder woman, looking back at her. 

This time, she pauses. “Echo,” she finally says. 

“Well, Echo,” he says, “I’m Murphy - and I think I can get us out of here.”

She rolls her eyes, settling back into the corner of her cage. “You would not be the first to try, and you will not be the last.”

“No one like me has tried before,” he says. 

“And what makes you so special?”

“You’ll see.” And with that, he kicks at his cage and he  _ roars _ . 

* * *

It doesn’t take long for one of the guards to come inside and haul him out of his cage, most likely more interested in shutting him up than anything. Still, Murphy doesn’t struggle too much as the guard takes him over to the end of the row of cages. He shares a look with Echo as he goes, winking as he passes. If she reacts to this in any way, he doesn’t see it. 

The guard takes one of the Grounder bodies that was hanging down, a young woman who is clearly long dead, and strings up Murphy in her place. He thought it’d be easier to deal with, but being upside-down is more uncomfortable than he could have imagined, and when he closes his eyes and lets his mind wander, he feels his neck  _ snap _ just like it did when he was hanging from the trees not too long ago. 

He’s going to die here, giving his blood to the enemy. That’s okay - it’s part of his plan. 

Yet again, he doesn’t get to follow it through. 

Much time passes before the door opens again. His mind is hazy, vision swirling from hanging upside-down for so long, but the next person that enters isn’t a guard, he can tell that much. And then - 

There’s a sharp stabbing pain in his leg, and alertness sweeps through him, faster than ever before. He hasn’t even died, yet it feels like he’s been revived, only more aggressively. An adrenaline shot is his best guess. Murphy breathes in, deeply, and when his eyes focus he sees a girl kneeling in front of him. 

“You’re from the Ark?” she says. She has to be from the mountain, meaning she shouldn’t know that about him, but it seems like she’s here to help. 

“Yeah,” he whispers, doing his best to nod while still hanging. 

She nods, and then begins pulling out the wires on his chest connecting him to the many machines all around them. The door opens once more, however, and a real guard enters, interrupting her. 

“Maya,” the man says, “you’re not cleared to be here.”

“I know,” the girl says, stepping backwards quickly, “I just - I wanted to see what made him so special, but, he’s dead.”

So, she’s got a plan of her own, then. He doesn’t have much of a choice, so he follows along with it and closes his eyes, feigning death. He’s had practice at this - it’s not hard. 

The guard comes closer. “So he is,” he says, and then there’s a loud noise and slowly, Murphy’s being lowered to the ground. When he’s on his back, he opens his eyes just a sliver, and sees the guard releasing the restraints from his ankles. 

“You know,” the guard says, “you’re a brave girl-”

He doesn’t finish the sentence. The girl, Maya, picks up a syringe from a table to their left and jabs it in the guard’s neck, pushing all the contents in. For a moment, he stands straight up, but then his eyes roll back and he falls to the floor. 

Slowly, Murphy sits up. The corner of the room suddenly grows much darker, and unlike previous times, he knows exactly why. “He won’t be out long,” Maya says, offering him a hand, which he takes and stands, stretching out his sore legs. 

“Yes, he will,” Murphy replies. 

“No,” she counters, but it doesn’t matter. Death has come out from the corner and is now standing over the guard’s body, too close to bother trying to separate them. 

“He’s dead,” he sighs. At this, Maya’s eyes widen in alarm and she races over, feeling for a pulse. When she doesn’t find one, her hand comes away, shaking. 

“No,” she says, “No, I - I didn’t mean to. That shouldn’t have killed him. How did that kill him?”

Murphy lets her process this, for only a moment. He’d give her longer if he could, but anyone could come through the door at any moment. “He would have killed me,” he says, “and maybe you. You didn’t have a choice. Come on.” It’s amazing, he thinks, how hardened he is at the prospect of death. 

Maya nods roughly, standing up slowly. As she rises, Death leaves too, hovering in the room for one last moment before departing. As they rise into the ceiling above, he thinks maybe the name _"angel of_ _death_ " is funnier than he gave it credit for.  


“Take his clothes,” Maya whispers.

“What?”

“He’s a guard. If you wear the uniform, I can sneak you around the mountain better.”

“Oh - yeah, okay.”

He starts to do this, and once she’s got a better hold of herself, she leans down and helps him. “For an inside man,” she finally says, “you got caught pretty early on.”

“Hey,” he retorts, “I had a plan.”

“You would have died, hanging up there.”

“Yeah, that was part of my plan.”

She stops what she’s doing and blinks at him. “Um. Okay.”

Murphy’s an idiot - of course she doesn’t know. How would she? Just because he was forced to tell the people of the Ark, doesn’t mean everyone in the universe magically knows his secret now. “Right, about that. So the thing is, is that I can-”

“There’s no time,” she says, cutting him off, for which he’s somewhat grateful for. In silence, they finish what they’re doing, and Murphy finds himself standing in the room in a full guard’s uniform. He’s been the prisoner, many times, but he has never been the officer. It feels unnatural. He doesn’t like it. 

“I need to get to a radio,” he says, “and check-in with my people.”

“Okay,” she agrees. “Come with me.”

As he gets ready to leave, the Grounders that are able start banging on their cages, protesting his exit. He notices Echo, however, stays silent, and watches him with what can only be described as amusement. “I’ll come back for you,” he promises, and then, louder, “I’ll come back for  _ all _ of you.”

“Let’s go,” Maya hisses, and he nods. 

With one last look, he follows her out and into the depths of the mountain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, thanks for reading another chapter, and once again a huge, huge, huge thank you to anyone who commented!! it means the world to me. seriously, thank you, from the bottom of my heart. 
> 
> you can find me on twitter @reidsnora as always :)


	7. it was not death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was not Death, for I stood up,  
> And all the Dead, lie down -  
> It was not Night, for all the Bells  
> Put out their Tongues, for Noon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi! a couple quick things. 
> 
> -some canon events pass by very quickly in this. i chose to do that because i wanted to focus more on the divergence scenes, as everyone has already seen the show. so if you're wondering why the pacing varies, that is why. hope that's alright.  
> -about clarke in the last chapter - i love clarke. this fic is not meant to be mean to clarke. i just think she's under a lot of intense pressure, and even if it's wrong, she would be cold and calculating before she is kind. this fic is also murphy's view of her, which is full of his own bias.
> 
> that's all! thanks :)

Maya pulls Murphy out of the harvesting room and into the hallway connecting this section of the mountain to the rest. Before they reach the elevator, she looks back and frowns. “Everyone knows everyone here,” she says, and then she reaches forwards and tears something off the guard uniform he’s put on. It’s a name-tag, he realizes, watching it flutter softly to the ground.  _ Lovejoy _ \- that’s the name of the dead guard, then. An ironic name, he thinks, for someone who would have killed them in seconds if he knew the truth about what was happening. 

He watches her carefully, noticing the slight tremor in her hands and voice. “You’ve done enough,” he says. “Thank you for helping me, but you can walk away.”

“Take this,” she says, instead, and hands him a simple white hat, which he puts on. “You’ve got his gun, right? Just in case?”

_ One, two, three bullets in his chest - a click, a bullet in his brain, his body in the dirt -  _

“Yeah,” he says, the weapon heavy in its holster. 

“Okay,” she says, “then, it’s time for the hard part.” From her back pocket, she pulls out a small blade, less than half the length of his old knife. 

He eyes it wearily. “What’s that for?”

“They put a tracking device into everyone that comes in the mountain,” she says, and as she explains he vaguely remembers the feeling of someone cutting into him amidst his and Lincoln’s capture. 

Nodding, he rolls up his left sleeve. “Take it out,” he says. 

Maya hesitates, only for a moment, but then she braces herself and digs the tip of the blade into his forearm, cutting down carefully. It hurts, but he’s felt much worse in the past, and he tries not to show much of a reaction. Maya’s already proved herself to be strong and resilient, and he wants to measure up. “So,” she says, attempting to distract him as she works, “what’s your name?”

“Murphy.”

“Nice to meet you, Murphy.”

Despite the spike of pain that he feels when she pulls out the tracking chip from his arm, he smiles softly. “You too, Maya,” he says. “Can I ask - what made you help us?”

She thinks this over for a moment. “What my people are doing is wrong,” she says, “even if they don’t know it. And after Jasper told me how they were captured...this can’t continue.”

“Jasper, huh?” Murphy asks, the smile growing larger. 

“You know him?”

“He’s a good guy,” he says, remembering the endless kindness and bravery that he’d seen Jasper exude in the brief time he’d known him.  _ I want to be more like Jasper,  _ he’d once thought. Being here inside the mountain might match the bravery part, but as far as the kindness? That’s still anyone’s guess. 

“Yeah,” Maya agrees, “he is. Now - take the chip and put in your cage, and then we’ve gotta get out of here. Your people are disappearing, Murphy. Monty and Harper have already been taken.”

Monty and Harper. His heart feels heavy thinking about how they’re both probably already dead. He knew them both from the Skybox, and then on the ground, and both of them were too generous and giving for their own good. 

He takes the chip and walks back to the rows of cages, ignoring how the Grounders in them rattle their cages as he passes, desperate attempts to escape. Delicately, he places the chip in the cage, and then looks over to make eye contact with Echo. She doesn’t look impressed.

“I  _ am _ coming back for you,” he promises, “for all of you.”

“You say that now,” she says. “Good luck out there. I hope you don’t die too quickly.”

“Thank you for your optimism,” he replies, and then he leaves the room and rejoins Maya outside the elevator. 

She gets him to enter first so he can stay in the corner and pull the hat down, covering most of his face. “You need a radio, right?” she asks. 

“Yeah.”

“Okay - I helped Jasper set one up to contact your people before. I can take you there.”

“Perfect,” he says, just as the elevator engages and they begin their descent through the mountain. 

Murphy keeps his eyes down and Maya stands strong. One person enters the elevator, and then gets off the next floor, none the wiser to what was happening. For once in his life, he’s starting to think that this plan might go smoothly, and he’ll make it to the radio without any trouble. 

But then - the doors open, and a child enters. 

Truth be told, Murphy still feels like a child himself, but the boy that enters can’t be more than eight or nine. He’s wearing a backpack and a nice polo shirt, and he smiles at Maya as he enters the elevator. She smiles back, but then her eyes drift to the back of his bag, and he can’t help but follow her gaze. The name  _ Lovejoy _ is sewn into the back. 

He thinks he’s going to be sick. 

The boy gets out at the next floor, and the floor after that is their stop, but when the doors open Maya has to forcefully drag him out of the elevator after her. He can’t shake the image of the boy’s innocent face from his head. “We have to  _ move _ ,” Maya hisses. 

“There are kids here?” he says, watching her features grow soft. 

“Well, yeah,” she says. “Did you think we were all soldiers?” 

He manages to clear his mind enough to keep following her, but internally, he realizes that he  _ did _ think that Mount Weather was an evil base, full of evil people. If there is one child, though, there are many children, and if there is one person like Maya, then there are many that think the same as she does. The harvesting room with all the cages is locked up. There are innocent people here who have no idea about Grounders, Reapers, or the larger events at play. 

The morality of the situation greys very quickly. There are children in this mountain, and his people have just sent the angel of death inside. 

* * *

Maya leads him through what looks like an old storage room, full of paintings and sculptures. He’d like to take a minute and walk through the shelves, if he could. There’s something beautiful about the colours and designs on each of the canvases, something that lifts his spirits more than most things. He feels particularly drawn to the red hues, and he’d like just a few more seconds to try and figure it out, but Maya’s already moved on. 

The radio’s literally in a hole in the wall, which amuses him, but he doesn’t have time to dwell. He picks it up, turns it on and says the first name that comes to his mind - “Bellamy?”

He gets only static in response. “Bellamy? Clarke?” he tries again, more hesitantly. 

Nothing comes through, and he swallows heavily, already starting to get used to the thought that he’s going to be alone, when the radio crackles and comes to life.  _ “Murphy? Murphy, is that you?” _

He unashamedly lets out a cry of relief, almost dropping to his knees, when Bellamy’s voice comes through crystal clear. “Yeah,” he says, “it’s me. I’m in the mountain.”

_ “You made it,”  _ Bellamy says. Murphy can practically feel his smile from there, and before he knows it, he’s smiling, too.  _ “Are you okay?” _

“Yeah - I’m with someone from here, a girl named Maya,” he says. “I wouldn’t have made it without her.”

The radio crackles, and then a different voice comes through - Clarke.  _ “Maya - I remember you from the distress call,”  _ she says.  _ “Thank you.” _

Maya nods, but makes no move to speak or take the radio, so Murphy continues on. “Is everything okay at camp?”

_ “We’re managing,”  _ Clarke says, which means that everything is very clearly not fine. Still, he knows there isn’t anything he can do from here.  _ “Now that you’re in, you need to disable the acid fog.” _

“Right,” he says. “Raven will tell me how?”

_ “Yes - she’ll walk you through it once you’re there.” _

He lets out a long breath. It truly never ends. “Okay. I’ll keep the radio, then, and let you know.”

There’s more static, and then Bellamy’s back, which is more relieving than he realizes.  _ “Be careful,”  _ he says. 

“I will,” he says, and then, “Bellamy, I don’t know what the plan is on your end, but we need one that doesn’t kill everyone.”

_ “I don’t want anyone to die, but it might come to that, Murphy.” _

Murphy’s grip tightens on the radio until his knuckles turn white. Once, he’d thought that death was a mercy, and it was his job to be merciful. Since then, though, he’s learned that death can be the same as life, and its power is not to be thrown around lightly. He may be akin to Death, and he may be the bringer of it, but he knows it must be possible to restrain its power, too, and save lives, even when it might be easier to take them. That has to be the better way to do things - it  _ has _ to be. “There are children here,” he says. 

Bellamy’s silent for a few seconds.  _ “Okay,”  _ he finally says, “ _ we’ll do our best.” _

He supposes that’s the best he’s going to get. “Hey, Bellamy?”

_ “Yeah?” _

“You be careful too, okay?” The words come out before he can think them over. He means it, truly, deep down. There was a time where he thought his destiny was to kill Bellamy in an act of vengeance for all he’d done to wrong him, but he thinks if he were in Bellamy’s place, he might have done the same. Their evolution is nothing short of beautiful. Who else could reduce Murphy to musing over poetic scenarios and things that might-have-been? 

Bellamy chuckles, and that too is beautiful.  _ “Don’t forget - you made me a promise to come back.” _

“I haven’t broken it yet.”

_ “Good,” _ he says.  _ “I’ll be waiting.” _

He holds the radio to his chest for a moment, pretending it’s a good enough substitute for what he truly wants in this moment, and then he gathers himself together. “Buy me as much time as you can, okay?” he says into the radio.

_ “Good luck, Murphy,”  _ Bellamy says,  _ “Find our friends.” _

Murphy lets the radio fall silent before he looks over at Maya. “So,” he says, “where to next?”

She smiles, and looks up at the ceiling. “How do you feel about air vents?”

He sighs. It never, ever ends. 

* * *

Several things happen in very quick succession. Murphy doesn’t have a chance or spare moment to process or think about any one of them. 

He uses the air vents to get around and locate the captured people from the Ark, but at least one of them had already been killed for their bone marrow. He manages to pose as a guard and sneak Jasper a gun so that they could fight back the next time someone was taken, and then he saves Fox’s life when she was about to be harvested, and later, Maya’s after she’d been found out by Cage Wallace. Murphy even manages to steal a key card when Lovejoy’s stops working for him, disable the acid fog upon Raven’s instruction, and evade capture on his way back to the harvesting room to do good upon his earlier promise. He does it all without dying, not even once.

He does all of these things, and never stops or asks why. There is no point where he questions what he’s doing there, or where his loyalties lie, or why he hasn’t turned tail and walked right out of the mountain, leaving its people and its war behind. It’s true he doesn’t owe his people anything, especially not after what they’ve done to him, but for the first time he feels like he’s found his purpose amidst all this. He’s helping people, and he’s saving lives. Sure - maybe he’s the angel of death, but he’s not here to bring it upon people. He’s here to embrace death, to experience it and resist it in all possible ways, so that he can keep everyone else he loves out of its clutches. 

He will do that, so that they don’t have to. 

As he runs into the harvesting room, brought face to face with the rows and rows of cages once again, this feels more true than ever. There’s at least a hundred people, maybe more, all trapped in this room - and he’s about to save their lives. 

“You really did it,” Echo says, watching incredulously as he turns the key in the lock that keeps her cage closed, and then helps her crawl out of it and stand, for the first time in what must be a long time. He opened her cage first, more to prove a point than anything else. 

“I told you I would,” he says, flashing her a quick smile before he moves on to the other cages. 

“I truly thought you were dead already,” she muses, taking careful steps. “Maybe there’s more to you and your people than I thought.”

He laughs. “Yeah, that’s what they all keep saying.”

Murphy keeps unlocking cages with a speed he hadn’t known he could reach. He’s  _ saving _ lives. It feels good. He gets so caught up in the moment and this feeling that he almost misses it when Cage’s voice starts coming through the PA system. 

_ “We can all return to the ground,”  _ Cage says, and Murphy swears, knowing exactly what this means. 

Cage keeps going on and on about how they’ve found a cure using bone marrow, and that anyone harbouring one of the forty-four was required to turn them over or they’d be considered enemies. Murphy knows that an offer of returning to the ground is too tempting for some to ignore - he, too, has felt the incurable desire to simply be free. He hopes, though, that those who have given his friends safe harbour, like Maya’s dad, are able to resist and stay out of harm’s way. 

“I have to go,” he decides, then and there, pushing the keys into Echo’s hands before she can say no. “Get ready to fight. I’ll bring everyone else back here, and then we’ll  _ all _ get out of here.”

She searches his eyes, trying to find any trace of deceit. “And if the mountain men come first?”

“They won’t,” he says. She rolls her eyes at this, but he presses on. “I kept my promise before, right?”

Echo sighs, and then tightens her grip around the keys. Quickly, she begins to move down the rows of cages, unlocking each one as she goes. Murphy hesitates for a moment, watching them all. This is their army, and their escape plan, but everyone here is also a person who needs help more than anything else. 

Still - Cage is forcing his hand. He races out of the harvesting chamber, intent on returning and bringing his people back with him. To this, he succeeds - to an extent. 

He reunites with some of his people as well as Maya’s father, and directs those he can to the harvesting room so he can meet them there. Somehow, they evade capture, and he eventually starts making his own way back with Maya, Jasper, and Monty. Most of their people have already been captured and taken to Level Five, but to rescue them they need an army. 

When they turn down the hallway leading to the harvesting room, Murphy thinks they might have a decent chance of them all making it out of there, until they enter the room and find it empty. 

Every single cage has been cleared. Some of the rusty metal doors still hang open, creaking against aging hinges. Rows upon rows of empty prisons, with no proof at all that any of them had ever been occupied. Nobody moves. A trail of blood slides along the floor, creeping closer to their feet. In the corner of the room is Maya’s father, a bullet hole in his forehead. Death has long since come and gone, and he can only feel the trace remnants of their presence in the room. 

Maya sinks to the floor and sobs. In this moment, Murphy feels like joining her. 

* * *

Murphy lets Bellamy, Octavia, and Clarke into the mountain. When he sees Bellamy again, in person, he practically collapses into his arms, letting relief fill his body as he’s able to let go of his tension and worry, just for a moment. 

“Are you okay?” Bellamy whispers, in the brief moments that are theirs to steal. 

“Sure,” Murphy says. He hopes that it’s convincing. Then, he turns to Clarke, forcing an easy smile back on his face. “So - we have no army, and our people are still captured. Do you have a plan?”

Clarke sighs. “Actually, yes,” she says, “I always do.”

Octavia takes Jasper and Maya up to Level Five to save her life, while the rest of them track down Cage’s father, Dante, and then work their way into the control room, once he gives them the tip that nobody will be there. It’s almost embarrassing how easy it is for Monty to gain access to their systems. 

Clarke handles the negotiating, talking to Cage through a radio. The hum of machinery all around them grows louder in his ears, so much so that Murphy can’t focus on what she’s saying anymore. A shiver runs up his spine and his anxiety heightens, for reasons he can’t explain. Something big is going to happen. He doesn’t know how he knows, but he can feel it on the horizon. 

Nervously, he finds himself tapping his fingers against a table in the room to try and work out some of the restlessness. No one pays him any mind, yet, it doesn’t take long for Bellamy to stand next to him and gently place his own hand over Murphy’s, forcing it still, and forcing him to be calm. “It’s going to be fine,” he says. 

“Yeah,” Murphy replies, and he wants to agree - he really, truly does. But even as Bellamy’s hand rests over his and fills him with warmth, the agitation and apprehension don’t go away. 

“It’s going to be fine,” Bellamy repeats, until it isn’t. Clarke’s moving with purpose, raising her gun and removing the safety in one motion. Murphy follows the barrel, seeing that it’s pointed directly at Dante. 

Monty’s eyes widen from the command chair and Bellamy rushes over towards her, leaving Murphy’s side. As soon as he goes, he feels it again, an ever-present chill that sweeps through his skin and settles in his bones. “Clarke, we need him,” Bellamy’s saying, but they’re past the point of negotiation, on all sides. 

Maybe Clarke says something in return, or maybe she doesn’t. Murphy truly doesn’t know. All he sees is the blossoming red stain that erupts on Dante’s shirt, and then the old man falls, dead before he hits the ground. He lets out an involuntary cry, dropping to the floor next to the body and pressing his hands over the wound in an attempt to save a life that’s already lost. 

He realizes, as Dante’s blood thoroughly coats his hands, that he never saw Death enter or leave the room. Murphy shakily lets go of the wound, unable to look away from the body. Death came in with them, he realizes, but that’s not quite right - Death came in with  _ him _ , and hasn’t yet left.

Clarke says something into the radio, but it doesn’t matter to him. Instead, Murphy looks at the monitor, watching Raven on the table, being drilled into. He watches in horror as she screams. Despite the way he feels, maybe it’s a good thing that Death stays with them. Maybe, just maybe, he can keep them away from her. 

Emerson starts descending through the mountain, headed straight for them. The drills continue to tear through Raven. They are running out of time. 

“Monty,” Clarke asks, her confidence wavering for the first time since this had all begun, “can we radiate Level Five? Is it possible?”

He hesitates before answering. “Yes. It’s possible.”

“Clarke, think about this,” Bellamy cuts in instantly. “If we do this, there’s no going back.” If things were different, Murphy might have taken a moment to admire the sudden emergence of his diplomacy and pacifism. 

But things are not different. He’s kneeling next to a dead body, Raven is near death, and Emerson is about to come and kill his friends. He is, and always has been, the angel of death. 

“I’ll do it,” he says, softly. Bellamy’s attention turns to him instantly, but he says it again, louder this time, as he rises to his feet. “We have to. Tell me how to radiate the level.”

“No,” Bellamy argues, moving to his side once again. “You don’t have to do this.” He grabs Murphy’s arm to try and stop him, just as he has so many times before, but this time the touch is anything but welcoming. It’s restraint. He sees that now as he shoves off Bellamy’s hold. He’s always tried to restrain him, whether that be by locking him up in the dropship or preventing his movements, and Murphy sees now that he’s not meant to be restrained. He already tried reining in his abilities before, and he allowed Bellamy to help him do that, but now he knows that’s not the way it was meant to be. 

He approaches Monty, who’s gazing at him with sadness in his eyes, and then he gestures towards a large lever in the control panel. “Just pull that,” he says, “if we’re sure.”

“Murphy,  _ please _ ,” Bellamy tries again.

“Do you have another plan?” he snaps, to which Bellamy seems to shrink in on himself in defeat. “Do  _ any _ of you have another plan?” he says, louder. 

“No,” Clarke admits, “you’re right. We have to.”

He nods, truly appreciating her decisiveness for the first time. “Okay,” he says, and then he places his left hand on the lever. 

“You don’t have to do this alone.” Bellamy’s at his side, stubborn as always, reaching out with his own hand to grab the lever - but Murphy swats it away. 

“Yes, I do,” he says. “I won’t let you carry this, too.”

Bellamy, for his part, doesn’t try to fight him on it. Murphy turns away from him, taking a deep breath to try and steady himself, and he knows he should pull the lever, but a part of him refuses to follow through. 

_ There are children here. There are innocents. He’s saving lives. He’s embracing death, so that they don’t have to. _

He was so, so foolish to think he was anything other than the bringer of Death. They doomed everyone in the mountain the second they sent him in to be their saviour. 

With tears in his eyes, he pulls the lever down. The chills that have been plaguing him cease, the panic in his chest settling down. Death leaves him begins to slink around the mountain, moving from person to person, too quick to catch

The effects are instantaneous. They all watch on the monitors in silence as the people of Mount Weather fall, while their own people stand and escape their captors for good. Raven is free. Their people are safe. He’s done a good thing.

No - he hasn’t done a good thing, or a bad thing. Murphy is Death. He’s done what he was meant to do, and nothing more. 

It doesn’t mean it hurts any less. 

* * *

They enter the mess hall in silence. 

The long dining tables stretch down the large room, rows and rows of chairs next to them. It reminds him of the harvesting chamber, and its endless rows of cages, except these cages are not empty. In almost every chair is the radiated corpse of an innocent civilian that he has murdered. 

Their people wander aimlessly through this graveyard, unsure of what to do. “It’s time to go home,” Clarke says, somewhere next to him, but he’s too focused staring straight ahead, where Jasper kneels on the floor, holding Maya’s dying body in his arms. 

He’s walking over before he can stop himself. Jasper doesn’t see or hear his approach through his choked sobs and pleas for her to hold on, for just a little longer. 

Maya looks up, raspily speaking to all that can hear her through a burned throat. “None of us,” she says, “are innocent.” Maybe that’s true, but for now, he’ll pretend otherwise. 

Jasper notices him then, blinking up blearily. “You,” he says, accusatory as he stares at Murphy, “do something.”

“I can’t,” Murphy whispers. “I’m so sorry.”

This is not the person that Murphy has come to admire. Jasper is kind, and playful, and has a good heart, but in this moment, that heart is full of grief. Murphy knows this to be true, so he tries not to let it bother him when Jasper stands angrily and shoves him backwards, eyes full of rage. “You can’t die,” he hisses, “isn’t that true?”

Truth be told, Murphy doesn’t know how he knows that. Maybe Octavia told him, or maybe the truth was out long before that, but there’s no point in hiding - not anymore. “Yes.”

Jasper steps closer to him again, shoving him harder. This time, Murphy stumbles, but he doesn’t fight back. “Then do something!” Jasper cries. “Bring her back!”

“It doesn’t work that way,” he says, but he truly, truly wishes that it did. 

“That’s not  _ good _ enough!” he yells, slamming his fists against Murphy’s chest in anger. It hurts, but he pretends that it doesn’t. Jasper is mourning, and Murphy is Death. He is allowed to be angry at him. “What did you do?” he cries, over and over. “What did you  _ do _ ?”

He expects the hits to keep on coming, but Octavia comes up behind Jasper and pulls him into her chest, wrapping him in a hug. Jasper sinks into the embrace, sobbing. 

He had wanted to be more like Jasper, once. He still did, he thinks - he knows who Jasper can be. At his best, he’s twice the hero that Murphy will ever be. Through everything, he’d remained kind, the kind of person who would talk to Murphy even right after the Charlotte incident. He’d been the best kind of person there is, and it had taken only seconds for Murphy to destroy him.

Murphy stands there silently for a moment longer, and then without saying a single word, he walks out of the dining hall and the mountain forever. 

* * *

“I’m not going in there.”

He’d made the trek back to Camp Jaha in silence, only stopping to check on Raven once. She’d smiled at him and thanked him for all that he’d done, and he tried to look genuine when he smiled back. The last thing she needed was to be burdened with his guilt. 

Now, he’s standing at the entrance. Bellamy’s refusing to leave his side. “You saved us all,” he’s saying, but Murphy’s not convinced. 

“I can’t do this again.”

“It’s over. You won’t have to do anything like that, ever again.”

Murphy sighs. They’re never going to understand. “I will,” he says. “It doesn’t end here. Everyone knows what I can do, and I can’t do what they’re going to want me to do. I can’t be the person they want me to be.”

Bellamy sighs, too, a mix of frustration and pain. “Nobody wants you to be  _ anything _ ,” he argues. “And you don’t have to be, or do, anything that you don’t want to.”

“What kind of person would I be to say no when they need help? Besides,” he adds, “it’s safer if I’m not around.”

“Safer?”

Murphy eyes Bellamy carefully, knowing he’ll never quite get what he’s trying to say. How does one explain that they are not only immortal, but Death itself? “You’re trying to build something here, aren’t you?”

“I guess so.”

“The last thing you need is Death getting in the way.”

“You promised that you would come back to me,” Bellamy says. “Are you really going to break that now?”

Murphy almost laughs, his heart lifting for only a second. “I won’t be gone forever.”

Bellamy steps closer, but unlike before, he doesn’t put a hand on Murphy’s arm, and he doesn’t try to force him to stay. “Do you need forgiveness?” he asks. “If that’s what you need, then I will give that to you. You’re forgiven.”

It’s almost enough, but he knows it never will be. “I don’t,” he says, “but thank you, anyways.”

“If you’re not coming in,” he says, “where are you going to go?”

“I don’t know,” Murphy replies. “It’s a big world out there, you know?”

Bellamy nods, and he takes one step towards the camp entrance, but then he turns around once more. “I just want you to know that you don’t have to do any of this alone. We’re here to help you, with this, and with everything, even if we don’t understand - even if we  _ can’t _ .”

“I know.” He agrees, in a way, but not in the way that Bellamy wants. 

Bellamy nods. He’s run out of things to say to convince him, so with one last look, he turns and walks through the gates of the camp. Murphy stays and watches him go, and then he stays for a little longer after that. This proves to be a mistake. 

Just as he’s worked up the nerve to finally turn his back on everything he’s come to know, Jaha storms out of the gates, headed straight for him. There’s a gun holstered in his belt. “Oh, no,” Murphy mutters to himself, letting out a long sigh. It was never going to be that easy. 

“You’re truly leaving us?” Jaha calls, still marching forwards to close the distance. 

“Why do you care?” Murphy says back. He should walk away, but he knows the moment he does, there will be a bullet in his head. “I thought you were going to the City of Light.”

Jaha sneers. Long gone is his facade of peace and faith, yet it still feels unnatural to see him unhinged like this. “After the stunt that you pulled,” he says, “there was nobody to accompany me, and even if I believed, I cannot make it through the desert alone.”

“Why not?” he asks. “Isn’t faith all you need?”

This doesn’t go over well, because suddenly there is a gun pointed at his face. “You will come with me, back through those gates,” he says, “or I will kill you here and now, and make you come with me.”

“Really? We’re doing this again?”

Jaha goes on, however, seemingly not having heard him. “You may have stolen my faith,” he says, “but I will not allow you to leave with the people’s hope, too.”

“Yes, I’m sure the people would love to know that you’re willing to murder their ‘hope’ when it doesn’t do what you want.”

The safety slides off the gun. “Don’t test me, John.”

Murphy swallows, staring down the barrel at a bullet with his name on it. “Listen,” he says, “you don’t want me there. I am Death itself, Jaha. You claim you want to help the people in that camp - do you really think it’s a good idea to bring Death inside the gates, to live amongst them?”

“Oh, John,” Jaha sighs, “your father was never this foolish.”

There’s a deafening  _ bang _ , and then there’s nothing at all. 

* * *

Death has nothing to say to him in the between, so he wakes fairly quickly with a start. He tries to stand, but something rattles and pulls him back. Murphy knows he’s in chains before he even has a chance to look. Sure enough, there’s a chain that binds his hands together, and one wrapped around his ankle that locks him to the wall. 

Jaha’s standing in front of him. This he sees first, before he realizes he’s in a small room, most likely in part of the Ark that came down. “Did you really have to chain me?” he sighs. His head still pounds from the remnants of the gunshot, but he does his best not to reveal this to his murderer. 

“It could have been much worse,” Jaha says, “but I did not want the people to think you were being treated  _ too _ harshly.”

“‘The people?’” Murphy repeats. “You’re not seriously going to tell people that I’m in here, are you? They won’t agree with this.”

Jaha’s mouth upturns into a smile that’s never felt quite so cold. “They already know,” he says. “How else do you think I brought you in here?”

He supposes that’s a good point, but it doesn’t make any sense - surely Bellamy, if not Clarke and Raven, too, would have objected. “It won’t last.”

“It will,” Jaha says. “In fact, you are going to be my key to victory - thanks to you, I will once again be Chancellor.”

“Thanks to  _ me _ ?”

“You may be the angel of death,” he says, “but I am the one who captured you.”

So that’s it, then. He’s doomed to be locked in this room like some animal, carted out when Jaha needed to make a good show or send someone on a dangerous mission. If it worked, and he did become Chancellor, there was no way that any of his friends would be able to rescue him - especially not after he made it clear he wanted to leave voluntarily. 

With one last grin, Jaha walks out of the room, locking the door behind him. Murphy can’t help it. Once the silence begins to hang heavy over him, the tears well up in his eyes and he cries. This time, though, there is no Clarke or Raven to tell him what to do, there is no Bellamy to sit by his side in comfort, and there isn’t even Death to keep him company. 

Murphy is well and truly alone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, i hope you enjoyed! i had fun writing it, even if it hurts sometimes. thank you all once again for everyone who left a comment last chapter. i can't think you enough. no, really, i can't thank you enough. 
> 
> if you like, i'm on twitter @reidsnora, as per always. wishing you the best and thank you again!


	8. to dance with death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To dance with death, to beat the ground,  
> Than that the victor Hours should scorn  
> The long result of love, and boast,  
> 'Behold the man that loved and lost,  
> But all he was is overworn.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for some brief suicidal idealization/contemplation.

_ Murphy always dreams of Death, yet it’s hard to tell where reality fractures and the dreams begin. _

_ Sometimes he dreams of the between. Sometimes he remains right where he is, chained to the wall of a prison he once called home. At no time, and in no place, is he free.  _

_ “I’m not getting out of this one,” he says, speaking more to the idea of Death than their solid form. Jaha has control of him. All the people of the Ark have ever wanted is control of death, control of their own fate. Now, Jaha has control of the people.  _

_ Death will laugh or smirk in response, but sometimes, they do nothing but gaze at him sadly through their shadowed, hidden face. “All is not as it seems,” they say.  _

_ “I think this one is pretty straightforward.” Even in his dreams, he feels the harsh metal grip of the chain on his ankle, and the cuffs on his wrists.  _

_ Normally, the dream ends here - except once. Just once, Death continues on. “Have you forgotten who you are?” _

_ He says nothing. He has never known the answer.  _

_ “Death is a force of the universe,” they continue, “and it can grow weak, but it can never be captured. It can never be destroyed.” _

_ “Fantastic.” _

_ They draw close, placing a shadowy finger underneath his chin, tilting his head up until he’s looking straight at them. Though he sees nothing beneath the dark hood, he’s caught by their gaze. “Death is a force of the universe,” they repeat, “but so are you.” _

* * *

Months pass. They don’t let him outside, not even once. 

Sometimes, Jaha will hover at the door to his cell, that smug smile always on his face, twirling a key ominously in his hand, but he’ll always leave without setting Murphy free. They feed him. They give him new clothes to change into, once in a while. Still, it doesn’t change the feeling that he’s slowly rotting away in this cell, all alone. 

Bellamy, Raven, Clarke - they never come. 

When he’d first been locked up, Jaha had told him the people “already knew” he was captured. Yet - nothing. He’s been left in silence, in complete isolation, for what feels like years but is closer to three months. Something isn’t adding up.

This leads him to two frightening conclusions - either Jaha was lying, and no one knew he was being kept prisoner here. It would explain why no one had come to see him, but it also meant that no one was looking for him, either. Or, Jaha was telling the truth, and all his friends know that he’s locked up here, but they don’t care enough to visit him. 

_ You don’t have to do any of this alone.  _ It was the last thing Bellamy had told him after they’d returned from the mountain, and yet here he sits, alone. Sure, he brought a lot of this on himself, but wouldn’t it be just his luck if Bellamy was lying, too?

So, months pass, his only company found in Death, until Jaha shows up at his cell one morning and he unlocks the chain around Murphy’s ankle. “It is time,” he says, stepping back and waiting for Murphy to stand by himself. His legs are stiff, and he’s weaker than he should be, but he manages to hold himself upright in front of Jaha. 

“Time?”

Jaha nods, though he looks less than pleased. “Yes, the election is on the horizon...it is not ideal. I wanted more time to prepare, to truly understand, and to  _ study _ , but I suppose that time has passed.”

Murphy blinks, slowly, going over the man’s words. He doesn’t understand any of them. “Election?”

“Hmm?” Jaha says, looking as though he’s only now just now realizing that Murphy’s in the room. “Oh, yes, a new Chancellor is sure to be elected. Abby has lost the people’s faith. Kane doesn’t have the drive. Pike, he’s a contender, but his approach is much too...simplistic.”

The name rings familiar, and when he places it, Murphy’s heart almost stops. “ _ Pike? _ As in, the Earth Skills teacher? He wants to be Chancellor?”

Jaha waves a dismissive hand. “A nuisance, nothing more.”

“Sure,” Murphy sighs, “whatever - I still don’t understand what you need me for.”

Jaha only smiles. “You will,” he promises. 

Upon his command, two guards enter the room. Though he’s free from the chain on his ankle, his wrists are still bound, and he’s unable to escape before one of the two guards approaches him and punches him right in the face. 

Murphy staggers away until his back hits the wall both from the impact and shock, blood from his nose dripping down his face and marking the floor. “What the  _ fuck _ ?” he spits out, but then the same guard hits him in the stomach and he doubles over, Jaha’s face lost somewhere above him. 

“It has to seem like you struggled,” Jaha says, flatly, void of any emotion despite what’s occurring. “It is for pretenses, you see - a waste of time, in my opinion, but necessary in these sorts of politics, don’t you agree?”

Murphy truly doesn’t care. Jaha rambles on, but he stops listening. The guard hits him a few more times until he’s on the ground, but as soon as he falls the guard backs off and the attacks cease. He doesn’t think anything’s broken, but he’s definitely bruised. 

Jaha kneels down, hovering just over him. “You see, don’t you?” he says, softly. “This is the way forward.”

He spits out the blood in his mouth on the floor, then brings himself to his knees so he’s level with Jaha. “You said the people know I’m here,” he hisses. “They’re going to know it was you that did this to me.”

Jaha only laughs. “The people know what I want them to know,” he says, “and that has always included you.”

As Murphy stares at the older man, the meaning of the words dawns on them and he comes to a terrifying conclusion - he’s staring into the eyes of an insane person. “You’re fucking crazy.”

“That is what they all say, at first,” Jaha agrees, “but I expected you to understand more at this point.”

He stands, then, roughly pulling Murphy to his feet with him. Murphy barely pays any mind when the guards throw some kind of sheet over him and push him out the door. All he can think about is what Jaha had said -  _ the people know what I want them to know.  _ Had he been lying? Had he been kept in that cell, this whole time, while everyone in the camp thought he was off in the woods somewhere?

Murphy quickly loses this train of thought. He can tell the moment they’re outside. Though the sheet keeps him blinded, he can feel the fresh air sink into his skin, and the sun high above them fills him with warmth. His shoes have long since worn through, and he can feel the grass and dirt beneath the thin soles. He’d love nothing more than to rip his boots off and enjoy the earth between his toes, but the guards push him onwards still. 

“Citizens of Arkadia!” That’s Jaha’s voice, somewhere up ahead. Murphy almost laughs at hearing the new name of the camp. Clearly, he’s not the only one that believes Jaha’s ego is too big for him. The guards keep pushing him forwards, until one of them grabs his arm to stop him and hold him in place. Suddenly, he feels stifled, even though the sheet is still over him and the sun is out there, above him somewhere. He’s surrounded by people, most likely Jaha supporters that are keeping him out of view. 

Jaha continues on, using his most authoritative voice to garner the attention of the crowd as he states some vague and meaningless facts to gain and keep their focus. It feels like not so long ago that Murphy was doing the same thing, trying to turn the crowd in his favour, and now here he is, a pawn in Jaha’s game. 

“There are those who have asked you to put your faith in them,” Jaha’s saying. “They are foolish, and you would be foolish to do so.”

At this, even from where he’s hidden, Murphy can almost feel the tension fill the air. “Thelonious,” someone says in warning, but he can’t place the voice. 

“Chancellor Griffin has done well with what she has been given,” Jaha continues on, barreling right past whoever objected. “But you have seen as well as I have - she is faltering. She has attempted to give her responsibilities away. There is no shame in this, but we know that she is not the leader we need.

“Many of you have given your support to Charles Pike upon his return. I admit - he has the charisma, and he would make a valuable council member.  _ But _ \- his solution to the Grounder problem is to wipe them out. This would be waging a war we could not win. If he is elected as your new Chancellor, he would kill us all.”

The crowd murmurs, and Murphy rolls his eyes. It all comes across a bit simplistic when it’s presented like this. It seems he’s not alone on this, when another voice speaks up. “What’s the point of all this, Jaha?” they say, and instantly Murphy’s eyes widen. He’d recognize Clarke’s voice anywhere. 

Once again, Jaha speaks right over his objectors. “So you cannot place your faith in your current Chancellor, and you cannot trust those in the election to bring us to victory. What are you all meant to do?”

“Pike’s got a good plan,” someone else says. “The Grounders are going to attack us one of these days. We should attack them first!”

A few cheers sound off in agreement, but Jaha’s undeterred. “I have something better to offer you.”

“Under my mother’s leadership, we have  _ peace _ !” Clarke cries, though the vocal support for her is audibly less. “We don’t need to go to war! Whatever you are offering, it won’t help.”

“You’re right, Clarke,” Jaha says, “but peace does not last forever.”

Pike’s supporters cheer their agreement once more. “Which is why we have to  _ attack _ !” someone says. 

“My people - my friends,” Jaha says, “Pike’s rule will bring about certain death. I am offering you something more, something we deserve.”

Without warning, the crowd around Murphy parts and the sheet is torn off his head. He’s shoved forwards, making him fall unceremoniously to the dirt where he scrambles to get back onto his knees. The sun is too bright. By the time he’s blinked away the spots in his vision, the entire crowd has seen him and are all staring. Jaha’s standing in the center of it all, smiling smugly at what he’s done. This has all happened before. He’s done this before. 

_ One, two, three bullets in his chest; one, two bullets in his head, and he’s dead all over again -  _

In the front of the crowd, there’s Clarke and Raven, both staring incredulously at him, and then, just to the right of them, there he is. 

It’s as he locks eyes with Bellamy that Murphy truly realizes how he must look to them. During his containment, Jaha had cut his hair only once, but it’s still grown too long and his beard has come in. He’s bruised, all over, and the flecks of blood on the dirt underneath him are evidence he’s still bleeding. Somewhere along the way, he got so used to the taste of copper in his mouth that he forgot it’s an unpleasant thing for others to see. 

When he looks at him, Murphy feels joy, but Bellamy only looks sad. 

“What the hell is this?” Clarke demands. None of them move forwards, but it’s clear that Jaha’s got at least some of the guard on his side, and nobody is risking a gunfight. 

“You all know Jonathan Murphy, the angel of death,” Jaha says. “You know how he abandoned us all those months ago. Well - I found him, outside our gates, and I have captured him and brought him to  _ you _ .” So it’s true - Jaha had been lying. Nobody had known that Murphy was in camp. It makes him feel a little bit better, but when he processes the rest of Jaha’s words the dread creeps back in. 

_ He’s lying,  _ Murphy tries to say, eyes only on Bellamy, but amidst it all he seems to have lost his voice. 

“Imagine what would have happened if he had remained out there,” Jaha continues. “Imagine if he had given his secrets to the Grounders. As it is, we stand no chance against their army, let alone an immortal one. 

“But I have prevented this. I have captured him, and brought him to you. And if you elect me as your Chancellor in return, I promise you we will study and learn all we can about him, so that we too may harness the power of death!”

There’s silence. “You’re crazy,” someone says. “That’s impossible.”

“Yet, you have all seen him revive from fatal wounds,” Jaha argues. “It  _ is _ possible. We can use this angel of death to save ourselves, and win all wars the Grounders may wage!”

Murphy’s still on his knees. Fear binds to his heart, yet he stares forwards still, keeping his gaze locked on Bellamy. All around him, the crowd leers, but none of them say anything until one person, somewhere in the back, cheers their support. It catches on quickly. Another person joins in, and then another, and before he can do anything, the entire crowd is roaring their assent. 

“Chancellor Jaha!” someone screams, and it becomes a chant, tearing through the crowd all around him.  _ Chancellor Jaha! Chancellor Jaha! _

In the haze of the voices, Abby has emerged from the medical tent, trying to gain control of the crowd and appeal to Jaha, but her words are lost in the uproar. Pike and Kane are there now, too, and Clarke’s still trying to advocate for a peaceful solution, but none of them are making an impact at all. 

Jaha only smiles. 

Two guards come up behind him and grab his arms, hauling him to his feet and dragging him backwards the way they came. “No!” Murphy tries to say, but he’s weak after months in captivity and he doesn’t stand a chance. 

As they drag him back to his cell and lock the door behind them, all Murphy can think about is Bellamy’s pale, ghostly face that had been drenched in fear as he’d watch them take him away. 

* * *

Sometimes, he thinks it’d be easier to die. Maybe everyone else would hurt less. 

He hopes his father at least got that choice. 

* * *

Murphy doesn’t have a home. Not anymore.

Those that he thought had been  _ his people  _ were going to turn him into a science experiment. He’ll only exist so that Jaha and his followers could attempt to find answers that Murphy doesn’t know himself. This is it - this is his ending. It’s his worst fear, and it’s come true, all because he’d tried to do the right thing. 

These thoughts keep him from falling asleep, but he’s far from alert when the doorknob to his cell jiggles and then clicks open, somewhere close to midnight. It’s nearly pitch black in the room and in the hall outside, but Murphy can see the outline of a person entering the room - Jaha, no doubt. “What do you want?” Murphy whispers, turning his head away from the door, trying to slink into the shadows and become a part of them. 

But then, the newcomer kneels down next to him and places a hand on Murphy’s wrist, so gently and so tenderly, that he knows it can’t be Jaha. Slowly, he turns his eyes back to face him. Even through the darkness, he knows exactly who’s there. “Bellamy?”

“Murphy,” Bellamy says, relief heavy in his voice. There’s the sound of metal jangling against metal, and a key is being slipped into the lock of his cuffs. It’s not long before the bindings open up and fresh, clean air hits his wrists for the first time in months. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

“I think,” Murphy starts, but there’s a lump in his throat that’s making it hard to speak. “I think that I should say that to you.”

Bellamy laughs softly, moving onto the chain around Murphy’s ankle. “I wish we had gotten here sooner.”

“‘We?’”

“Yeah - Raven’s just outside. Clarke’s going to take you the rest of the way, after this, but I had to see you.”

He feels warm, and his eyes are wet. “I’m sorry,” he says. 

“For what?” The chain snaps off. Bellamy pockets the key. Though this is a prison break and they no doubt are low on time, he stays kneeling in front of Murphy, waiting for an answer to the question. 

“I shouldn’t have tried to leave,” he says. There are tear tracks on his cheeks, but he doesn’t remember when he started to cry. “It was stupid of me. I was scared.”

Bellamy shakes his head, then grabs Murphy’s hands and helps him to his feet. “It’s okay.”

“I’m  _ scared _ , Bell.” It comes out in a choked whisper, but Bellamy doesn’t think any less of him because of it. Instead, he pulls Murphy close to his chest, and for a few perfect moments, there is no prison, death is a foreign concept, and they are allowed to breathe. 

It ends, as all good things do. “I wish we could have longer,” Bellamy says, “but - the guards will figure out something is wrong soon, and they’ll come back.”

Murphy nods, hastily wiping his eyes. “Thank you,” he says, to which Bellamy only nods.

He allows Bellamy to take him by the hand and lead him outside, where Raven’s keeping watch in the hallway. She lets out a breath and squeezes his shoulder when she sees him. “It’s good to see you again,” she says. 

“Yeah, you too,” he replies, and he means it more than she’ll ever know. “Thank you - both of you - for doing this.”

“Of course,” she says, and then, “Besides, if you really could share the secret of immortality, I’d be the first person you told, right?”

He laughs under his breath. “Yeah, you would be.”

She pumps a fist in the air, and he smiles. Despite the aches in his body and the dread that’s cemented in his mind from everything that’s happened, he feels true joy. As they emerge from the dark hallway of the Ark and step outside, he sees Clarke, smiling with relief at their approach. He smiles, too, suddenly anxious to reunite properly. 

Maybe he doesn’t have a home. That’s okay - he has them. 

Clarke hugs him when they meet her, quickly, but it’s full of genuine warmth. “We missed you,” she says. 

“Haven’t you heard?” he says. “I’ve been here the whole time.”

He regrets it, once he’s said it, as all their faces drop. “We didn’t know,” Bellamy says, darkly. 

Murphy quickly waves a hand to dismiss them. “I know, I know.” He takes a second to look around, then, now that they were outside. They’re somewhere around the back of the Ark, at the back end of the camp. There’s a small fire in the center of camp, giving them all light, and he can see a few guards stationed along the fence and the gate. Though they’re in plain view, none of the guards are doing anything about it. 

Raven notices him looking at smiles. “There are more people here who support you than you think. They know what you did for us in the mountain.”

“I don’t understand,” he whispers. “How did you guys do this?”

“Pike trusts me,” Bellamy says, “and...while I don’t agree with him on everything, he was willing to work with me to break you free.”

The pieces start to come together. “Because without me, Jaha has nothing, and Pike wins the election.”

“It’s not ideal,” Clarke cuts in. “We’d all rather Kane, but with Bellamy’s influence, maybe we can lessen Pike’s anger if he does get elected.”

“Exactly,” Bellamy agrees. “So we switched the guard schedule around without anyone else knowing. Lincoln and Jasper are at the gates, and they’ll let you out.”

Lincoln makes sense - the man stood for peace above all else, and whether he was right or wrong, felt he owed Murphy. But still, the other name surprises him. “Jasper?”

“Yeah,” Raven says. “We were surprised, too.”

He stares at the gates, watching the smaller of the two guards shift from side to side as he stands post. A slow smile creeps onto Murphy’s face. He once thought of Jasper as one of the kindest and bravest people he’d ever met, and now he knows that’s still true. “No, I’m not surprised,” he says. “Not at all.”

Clarke brings his attention back to the group. “As much as I’d love to stay, we have to get moving.”

“Where are we going?”

They start moving over to the stable, where a horse has already been prepared to ride. Clarke mounts it easily, and then extends a hand to help him up. “There is a coalition meeting soon, and I was supposed to leave tomorrow for it,” she says. “There’s nothing wrong with me leaving a little early, and nobody had to know you came with me.”

“We’re going to  _ Polis _ ?”

“Lexa will guarantee your safety,” Clarke promises. “I’m sure of it.”

He sees nothing safe about entering the Grounders’ capitol, but he supposes he’s low on choices. With a breath, he takes Clarke’s hand and makes his way onto the back of the horse, his arms around her waist to stabilize himself. 

Murphy glances down at Bellamy and smiles. “Isn’t this the part where you say something melodramatic?”

“No,” Bellamy says. “This is twice now you’ve come back to me. It’ll happen again.”

“Yeah,” Murphy says, “third time’s the charm, right?”

Bellamy only smiles. Contentment looks good on him. 

“Have you ever ridden a horse before, Murphy?” Clarke asks. 

“Can’t say I have.”

He can’t see her expression, but he’s sure she’s smiling. “Well, this is Roscoe. He’s never been anything but wonderful to me. Trust me, you’ll love him.”

With that, they take off, leaving Bellamy and Raven behind. For the first few seconds, he isn’t ready for the speed and he feels like he’s about to fall right off, but then he gets used to it and leans into the momentum. They’re not going all that fast, but it feels like the wind is rushing by him at a thousand miles an hour, and it takes everything he has not to let out a good  _ whoop! _

The gates are open before they get there, letting them sail right through. He wishes he could take a second to thank Jasper, and apologize once again. 

Still, somehow, he turns his face forwards and lets Roscoe take them into the forest, away from everything he’s ever known, and towards something that he can only hope will be greater. 

He wishes he could take Bellamy with him. He doesn’t know why, but when he thinks of Bellamy’s face, illuminated only by the fire when he’d left, a small pit forms in his stomach that he can’t get rid of. Murphy doesn’t know how, but he’s certain he’ll never shake this feeling, not until they’re reunited once again. 

He turns his face forwards, yet he hopes that it won’t take too long for them to do so. 

* * *

It takes them just over a day and a half to make it to Polis, stopping only a few times in between to let Roscoe rest and to rest themselves. They don’t talk much on the way. Both of them know they’re a moving target, though neither of them say this aloud. 

Murphy’s had all this time to come to terms with where they’re heading, but as they slowly trot through the entrance to the city, his stomach twists and he starts losing his nerve. Looking around, he has no doubt as to why this is the capitol - it’s  _ huge _ , sprawling out all around them. Groups from all different tribes wander about. There are rows and rows of merchant booths, selling products to the crowd to make their living. Most striking, of course, is the giant tower that marks the center of the city. 

This tower is where they’re headed. There’s no way they can avoid gathering attention - they’re both obviously from Arkadia, and all the people here have varying opinions on the newest addition to the coalition. Still, nobody tries to stop them as they dismount Roscoe and tie him the stables for guests, and enter the tower. 

Clarke leads him upwards, to a high level near what must be the top of the tower itself. “Lexa doesn’t know you’re coming,” Clarke warns. “There just wasn’t time - but I promise she’s reasonable. If we explain the danger, and why you need sanctuary, she’ll grant it.”

“Right,” he says, studying her body language carefully as she speaks. “You like Lexa, then?”

“I - sure, she’s an inspirational leader, and she’s strong, and well-spoken, and I think that-”

“Clarke,” he says, “I get it.”

They walk a little more ways in silence until they reach a simple hallway, a large door at the very end that is too distinguished to belong to anyone but the Commander. There’s a guard at the door, but he seems to recognize Clarke and doesn’t object to them being there. 

Suddenly, though, Clarke spins around, and halts her progress, catching him off guard. “Okay,” she admits, “I - I do. I like her.”

“Okay,” he says. “That’s great.”

“It’s not like anything could happen, though. There’s more at stake, for everyone. I just - had to say it.”

He raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean, there’s more at stake? You like her. If she likes you, what’s the problem?” Nothing is ever that simple. He knows this, deeply and personally, but he still wants her to be happy. 

“The coalition is more important,” she insists. “We’ve worked so hard for peace, after what happened in the mountain - we can’t let anything ruin that. It’s about survival.”

“Clarke,” he says, “take it from me. There are more important things. Life should be about more than just survival.” He knows this issue, intimately, and though the words take him by surprise, he knows he believes them, as hard as they are to achieve. He still feels the pit in his stomach that’s only grown since he left Bellamy behind, and now, in this moment, he begins to understand exactly what it means. 

A small smile forms at the corner of her mouth. “It’s funny,” she says, “I was the one saying that, not all that long ago.”

He matches her smile, and then gestures to the door. “Well, then,” he says, “let’s go meet the woman who was able to steal Clarke Griffin’s heart.”

“Shut up,” she laughs, then nods, and they approach the door to Lexa’s room. The guard nods at Clarke, letting them by once she makes it clear that he’s with her. 

There are so many ways that this could go wrong. Lexa could refuse to hear him out, or ignore his plea, or kill him on sight, which would only make the problem worse. His very presence could end the coalition and bring war upon those he’s tried his hardest to protect. 

Still, somehow, he feels oddly at peace, both with himself and the universe. He may not know all its secrets, but he thinks he’s just figured out at least a few of them, and he can live with not knowing the rest. 

Together, they walk through the door. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, thanks for reading! sorry this chapter took a little longer than the others, and it's slightly shorter. i have no excuse. hopefully you enjoyed it all the same!
> 
> big thanks to oog for naming roscoe. i hope you like him (he will be back). his influence persists. 
> 
> as always, i am on twitter @reidsnora okay that's all from me thank you <3


	9. the silent halls of death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His chamber in the silent halls of death,  
> Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night,  
> Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed  
> By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave,  
> Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch  
> About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote this entire chapter listening to "it's ok" by tom rosenthal on repeat, as well as some "fireworks" by mitski, so if you would like a song rec, there you go!

The Commander’s room is nothing like what he was expecting.

It’s large, and sweeping, with windows covering an entire wall across from them. There’s a large bed towards the right, and several seats on the left. Despite the sunlight that streams in through the windows, there are candles on almost every surface. They aren’t lit, but Murphy can imagine how they would illuminate the entire space even during the night. If it weren’t for all the furniture and lighting, it would feel cavernous. He feels too small to be standing inside it. 

The Commander herself stands by the windows, staring out at her city below, silhouetted in daylight. Her hands are clasped behind her back, and she stands straight with a confidence that immediately makes him want to shrink inside himself. For a second, she stands still even when the door falls shut behind them, but then she turns towards the two of them. Her hands stay behind her back, and her posture stays regal, but he notices her let out a small breath of relief when she sees who’s come to see her. 

“Clarke,” she says, nodding in greeting. She smiles, too, almost imperceptibly so. “It is always a pleasure to see you.”

“Lexa,” Clarke says in return. 

There’s so much similarity between them, Murphy realizes, watching the way they both stand and look at each other. He gets so caught up in thinking about this that he forgets he hasn’t introduced himself, and he’s a stranger in the Commander’s room. Still, he doesn’t know what to say. Does he bow? Does he shake her hand? Does he scream at Clarke for not preparing him for this? “Murphy,” he finally blurts out, and then has to resist the urge to visibly cringe at himself. 

Lexa raises an eyebrow at his declaration, but instead of questioning him or getting angry, a hint of a smile pulls at her lip. “Clarke,” she says, her tone lighter than before, “who have you brought with you?”

“This is Murphy,” Clarke answers. “He’s my friend - and we need your help.”

Lexa hums, looking conflicted for only a moment before the professional facade reappeared in her gaze. “And what,” she says, “can I do for a Skaikru boy?”

_ I’m eighteen! _ he wants to protest, but he thinks better of it and stays silent. He doesn’t feel that old, anyways. He shouldn’t have lived this long as is. 

Clarke’s looking at him expectantly, waiting for him to make his own case, but in this moment he doesn’t feel like he really has one. Lexa doesn’t owe him anything. Still, though, Clarke’s taken him this far, and he can’t let her down all the way. “My people want to kill me,” he settles on, watching both of their eyes narrow, Clarke’s in annoyance and Lexa’s in suspicion. 

“You have brought me a criminal?” Lexa asks Clarke, though her steely gaze doesn’t lift from Murphy for a second. 

“No!” he and Clarke say in unison, but Clarke shoots him a look and he lets her finish. “Murphy...has abilities, and they make him a target. It’s not safe for him in Arkadia anymore. We were hoping you would provide refuge in Polis.”

“Abilities,” Lexa repeats. She’s clearly unimpressed when she looks him up and down, taking in his messy hair and unclean clothes, but it’s clear she’s not outright dismissing him. “What does that mean?”

Clarke looks at him once again, but he just shrugs, letting her make the call. “I’m sorry, but the fewer people that know, the safer it is.” 

This doesn’t impress Lexa. She sighs, looking back and forth between the two of them, before she shakes her head. “This is quite foolish,” she says, “even for  _ you _ , Clarke.”

“Lexa, please-” Clarke tries, but Lexa only has to raise her hand to stop her from finishing. 

“We may have had our differences at the mountain,” she says, “but I invited Skaikru into  _ my _ coalition. I have extended peace where there was once only war. I have shown mercy, even when my people have demanded that I slaughter you all.”

“I know,” Clarke says, “and I’m grateful for that, we all are, but this situation with Murphy is...complicated.” 

“Complicated or not,” she replies, “it remains a Skaikru issue. Ambassadors from all thirteen clans are coming today to meet. And yet here you are, demanding that I accept and house Skaikru refugees. I will not involve myself in your clan’s disputes, and you should know better than to ask me to abuse my power for them.”

Clarke blinks, as though she’s been slapped in the face. Murphy doesn’t know exactly what’s gone on between the two of them all this time, but they seem to be on completely different pages, despite what Clarke had told him. 

A beat of silence passes, and then Clarke steps forwards, closing the distance between herself and the Commander. “Lexa,” she says, and even from behind her Murphy can feel the fire in her eyes, “do you trust me?”

Lexa’s eyes soften, visibly so. “I do, Clarke,” she says, with a delicacy that he would never have guessed her to possess. “I trust  _ you _ . But that plays no part here. You say that Murphy is a friend - how am I to know that he is not a spy, or a killer? I cannot, in good faith, harbour him in the city of my people.” She pauses. If Murphy didn’t know any better, he’d say she was genuinely distraught. “I hope you can understand that.”

Clarke looks back at him, and then glances at the floor, defeat showing in her eyes. Finally, she nods tightly. “I understand,” she says. “A representative of Skaikru will be in Polis for the delegation.”

She turns towards the door, putting a hand on Murphy’s shoulder as she passes him. “I’m sorry, Murphy,” she says, a lot louder than she has to, “I’m sorry for bringing you here. We’ll find somewhere safe.”

It’s obvious what she’s doing, especially as Clarke pauses and hovers by his side several seconds longer than she has to. Lexa, however, is unmoved, and only stands with perfect posture, watching them carefully. Clarke’s ploy for sympathy isn’t going to work, because they’re appealing to a Commander who quite obviously believes emotion has no place in leadership. Still, from an observer’s standpoint, it’s clear that Lexa doesn’t want to reject Clarke’s request, and more importantly, doesn’t want her to leave. 

He can’t let Clarke waste her life trying to find somewhere that will take him in, and he can’t be the reason that she isn’t allowed to find happiness. There’s only one thing left to do, and though his heart feels heavy when he thinks about what it could lead to, he knows that he’s got no choice. “Wait,” he says, just as Clarke moves to open the door and Lexa starts turning back to the windows. “You asked what Clarke meant by my ‘abilities.’”

“Murphy, don’t,” Clarke hisses, but he ignores her, instead watching Lexa turn back to face him. 

“I did,” she says. “What makes you so special, Murphy?”

“I can’t die.”

He’s expecting questions, or denial, or flat out indignation from the Commander, yet she only tilts her head slightly to the left and raises her brow. “I see.”

Clarke’s visibly nervous, and so he is, though he’s doing his best to hide it. Lexa still doesn’t say any more, so he continues on, trying to fill the silence more than anything else. “My people found out,” he says, “and they used it to their advantage.”

“A member of Skaikru held Murphy hostage for three months,” Clarke fills in, and he’s grateful that she’s able to verbalize the things he’s doing his best to forget about. “He wanted to experiment on Murphy, to try and ‘take his power.’ We helped him escape, and I brought him here, where no one would think to look.”

Lexa takes a deep breath, and he fears the worst, but there’s a glimmer of  _ something _ in her eye that eases his worry, and he can’t explain why. “Clarke,” she says, “could you leave us alone, for a moment?”

Now he’s really worried. Clarke seems unsure, and he fixes her with an intense stare that he hopes says,  _ please don’t leave me alone _ , but his message doesn’t get across. Clarke lets out a short breath and then nods, glancing between them both before turning around and walking out the door. It falls shut behind her with a soft  _ click _ , and only now does Murphy realize just how far down the city outside is below them. 

Lexa’s silent for a second, studying him every second of the interaction, but then she walks to one of the chairs in the left of the room and sits, gesturing for him to do the same in the seat across from her. He does so with no hesitation. The only thing separating them is a small wooden table, every inch of it filled with candles stacked on top of each other and drops of wax. Only one of the candles is lit, the one at the very top of the arrangement.

“So,” she says, once he’s sitting, “you cannot die.”

“Nope.”

“Have you tried?”

He can’t hide the surprise from his face. It’s a question he’s sure that he’s going to be asked many more times in his life, but he never expected to have it posed to him so directly. “Yeah,” he says, “many times.”

She nods. “So you can be killed,” she says. 

With just the two of them there, she’s revealing more about her emotions. The placid facade that ruled her expression is gone, and in its place, she’s filled with genuine curiosity. Murphy barely knows her, yet he finds it refreshing, and oddly charming. “Yeah,” he agrees, “but I always come back.”

Suddenly, the corner of her mouth lifts into a smile and her eyes begin to shine. “You were the one in the mountain, then.”

_ One, two, three bullets in his chest, one, two bullets in his head, the lever is pulled and hundreds of people die at his hand, Jasper shoves him once, twice - he is and always will be the angel of death -  _

He blinks, harshly, forcing the memories aside. Still, the anxiety stays, and he hopes he’s not visibly sweating. “I was,” he admits, sorrow washing over his chest. “I was their inside man, and then I killed them all.”

At this, Lexa’s eyes widen. “ _ You _ killed the Mountain Men?”

“I did.” He thinks he sees Death in the corner of the room, just for a moment, but he blinks the apparition away from his sight. It doesn’t really matter. Visible or not, Death is always hanging above him like a cloud, ready to do his bidding. They’re connected, and he feels it every day, like an ache in his bones that he can’t quite shake. He knows this, now. 

“I had assumed it was Clarke,” Lexa admits, softly, and she laughs once. “It earned her the name Wanheda.”

“Wanheda?”

“The Commander of Death.”

It’s his turn to laugh. Unlike Lexa, he can’t restrain it, and soon he’s doubling over with tears pricking at his eyes as the title floats through his mind again and again. His chest hurts in a pleasant, carefree way he hasn’t felt in years by the time the laughter subsides. With a long breath, he wipes the tears from his eyes. Lexa’s watching him with a careful fascination, but she doesn’t seem annoyed at the outburst - in fact, she seems to have enjoyed it. “It is not often people act that way around me,” she admits, once he’s regained control. 

“Sorry,” he says, but she shakes her head. 

“No,” she says, “it was...nice.”

He nods, understanding what she means more than she knows. Maybe, just maybe, there isn’t as big of a difference between them as he once thought. Maybe, at heart, Lexa is just someone who grew up too soon who wants nothing more than to feel what it’s like to be a child. That’s a feeling he knows well. “My people call me the angel of death,” he confesses, watching her brow raise in amusement at the name. 

“Charming,” she says. “It seems we are not as different from Skaikru as we would like to believe.”

Murphy thinks of the way she’s treated him so far, and how easy it is to exist in her company. He never could have laughed that way in Jaha’s presence, back on the Ark or on the ground. He hasn’t laughed that way in a long, long time. “No,” he counters, “you are.”

This peaks her interest. “Are we?”

“Yeah,” he says, “you haven’t locked me in a cell yet, or shot me in the head for everyone to see.”

“Your people have done this to you?”

“A few times, actually,” he admits. 

She lets out a breath. “They do this only because they do not understand what it is that you can do?”

“They’re real charmers,” he says, flatly. 

If she has any sort of reaction to that, she doesn’t say. Instead, she leans back in her chair, visibly letting her comfort show. “You have been honest with me,” she says, “and Clarke trusts you enough to bring you here, so I will tell you a secret.”

He never would have predicted the conversation would go this way. “Okay.”

“You cannot die,” she says, “and neither will I.”

The world slows around him as he struggles to process this. For the briefest of moments, he considers the possibility that he’s not as alone as he once thought, and that there are others out there exactly like him. “Really?” he asks, softly. He doesn’t want this moment to end. He doesn’t want his hope to leave.

On top of the table, the candle on top goes dark, all the wax melted away as the flame burns out. “Not in the same way as you,” she admits. “I can be killed, and I will not return. Instead, my spirit will live on in the Flame, and will advise the next Commander.”

_ Oh _ . He should have known better than to think the way he had. Still, out of politeness, he asks, “The Flame?”

She nods, and then twists in her seat and pulls her hair back, revealing a thin vertical scar on the back of her neck. His only guess is that something was placed inside her neck, the thought of which sends shivers up his spine. “All Commanders receive the Flame upon their ascension,” she explains. “It is how I commune with all the previous leaders of our people.”

Years ago, he would have dismissed this, but now he knows that sometimes what sounds absurd is part of reality. “Can you hear them?”

“Sometimes,” she says. “I dream what they saw, other times, or I feel what they once felt.”

He knows Death isn’t like that, but he wishes that it was. “That’s beautiful.”

She smiles, covering the scar once again with her hair. “It is our way,” she says. “We believe that Death is only the end of the battle, but it is not the end of us, or our spirit. While your ‘abilities’ may work differently, they are not so different to what we believe.”

For the first time, and only for a second, the thought of Death fills him with warmth. Maybe it  _ is _ about perspective. Maybe Death is only a part of life, a part of the universe, and his spirit is somehow intertwined with it. Yet, then the thought of the hundreds of radiated corpses in the mountain takes its permanent space in his mind, and he knows this can’t be the truth, as much as he wants it to be. 

“So,” he finally says, “I understand if you don’t want me to stay in Polis, but do you know somewhere that I can go?”  _ Somewhere that I won’t hurt anybody, _ he wants to say, but the words don’t make it out of his throat. 

Lexa regards him carefully before speaking. “I like you, Murphy,” she finally says. “I believe you want to do the right thing. I invite you to stay in Polis with me.”

He blinks in surprise. “Wait - really? Just like that?”

“Just like that,” she echoes. “In the past ten minutes, you have displayed more honesty and humanity than any of my advisors. I can see why Clarke calls you a friend.”

_ I can’t,  _ he thinks, but he forces a smile on his face regardless. “Well,” he says, “thank you. And, for the record, she speaks quite highly of you, too.”

He almost laughs at the surprise that hits Lexa, and the slight blush on her cheeks. “Does she?”

“Yeah,” he says, “and I can see why.”

The smile she gives him is wide. “Thank you, Murphy,” she says. “I appreciate your genuinity.” 

They both stand, and he gives her a mock salute with two fingers, laughing when he sees her mimic the movement with confusion on her face. “It’s called a salute,” he says. “We use it for respect, or when we, um, appreciate something someone says to us.”

“A gesture of thanks,” she says, and then with a twinkle in her eye, she raises two fingers to her forehead and gives him a salute once more, the gesture far less stiff the second time around. He laughs, feeling a true appreciation for her. 

As he opens the door and lets Clarke in, explaining that he’s going to be allowed to stay in Polis, he finds himself ruminating over the conversation they just had with true joy and appreciation. Death may hang over him like a cloud, but it’s been a while since he’s felt so free of it, like that may be his only problem, and all the rest have been solved. He knows Bellamy isn’t here, and he knows that he’s a stranger in a city that might turn on him in any second, but he thinks that Lexa is someone that he can truly trust. 

She may be the Commander, but he hopes Lexa can be his friend.

* * *

Lexa was being more literal than he thought when she said she’d allow him to stay with her. Before the day’s end, he’s been set up in a separate room in the tower, only down the hall from Lexa’s. 

“It is used for guests, most commonly visiting leaders of the villages,” she explains as she walks him inside. “It will not be checked, and no one will think it odd that it is occupied. Only myself, and my Flamekeeper Titus, will know the truth.”

He doesn’t know who Titus is, but he doesn’t care when he sees the room. It’s simple, with only a bed, a table and a window, but his breath stops when he sees the size of it. For the first time in a very long time, he’s been given freedom he never dreamt of having, and there are no chains in the room to tie him up. “This is for me?” he asks, softly, his breath catching on the last word. 

Somehow, Lexa seems to understand what’s going through his mind, and her voice softens accordingly. “Yes,” she says. “You can stay as long as you like, or until it is safe for you to return to your people.”

“My people made me slaughter a mountain full of innocent people to prove my loyalty,” he snaps. “My people locked me up for months because they were scared.” The anger isn’t at Lexa - it’s at them, and it’s at himself, for ever thinking he could earn a place there. 

That’s unfair of him. He knows that. He’s more at fault for what happened to him than he’d like to admit - he knows this, too. 

Still, Lexa takes it in stride, which he appreciates. “I see,” she says. “Then, you may stay here until you find your people again.”

Murphy nods, and she takes her leave, gently closing the door behind her. He sees for the first time a pile of simple clothing in the corner of the room, and he slowly makes his way over to it, choosing a shirt and pants to change into. When he pulls off his raggedy old shirt, he can almost see the outline of his ribs beneath his skin, and only now does he realize how thin and sickly he’s become. Still, it feels nice to have something new and clean. He’s bruised, he’s exhausted, and he really needs a haircut, but right now, being able to change into fresh clothes is more luxury than he could have ever imagined. 

The sun is setting, and the colours of dusk slowly overtake the sky. Gingerly, he sits at the very edge of the bed, watching the city outside through the window with amazement. Activity is slowing down as merchants close up shop and people return to their homes, but it still feels busy, lively, and harmonious. Far below him, he can hear people laughing. Nobody ever laughed so freely like that in Arkadia. 

He’s hesitant, but slowly he lies back on the bed, the soft furs threatening to swallow him up. Tears prick at the corner of his eyes as the tension he’s been holding finally leaves his body. The room is still, and peaceful, and he feels comfort and security like he hasn’t felt since he was a child. 

He could live here, he thinks, as his eyes shut and he leans into the relaxation. There are no bullets firing at his chest, Jaha is far, far away, and in a place like this, he doesn’t have to worry about the mountain or its men or any levers that he might have to pull to kill them all. He doesn’t have that weight on his shoulders, not here, not now. It’s a hesitant thought, but Murphy thinks that here, he might finally learn to heal. 

As the sun sets beneath the horizon and the moon takes its place in the sky, Murphy understands what contentment and joy feel like. The only sound to be heard is his own laughter mixing with that of the peoples’ below. 

* * *

Life is peaceful, for a time. 

He spends his days in the tower, though sometimes he ventures out into the city. On the very first day, he’d tracked down a knife and cut off his long, overgrown hair. He had no skill at it, and the finished product was short, choppy, and wild, but he liked it. It felt nice. Still, Clarke had fixed it for him the next time she’d visited, which was nice, too. It made him feel more like himself. 

Clarke visits often. He’ll ask her about news from Arkadia, and though he never says so, she understands he’s hinting to hear about Bellamy and she tells him everything. He learns from her that the people have turned against Jaha after Murphy’s so-called “disappearance” and that once again Pike is gaining favour. Bellamy’s doing his best to placate Pike’s desire to wage war against the Grounders, but Clarke’s worried it’s only a matter of time before something volatile occurs. 

He’ll take Clarke to Lexa’s room and they’ll talk about what’s going on in Polis, as well. The Grounders are less than pleased with Lexa’s new stance,  _ blood must not have blood _ , and she’s worried she’s losing influence and control. Titus, Lexa’s “Flamekeeper” and advisor, is displeased with the amount of time she’s spending with Skaikru and she worries his view will persuade the people to turn against her. 

There is nothing that Murphy can do to help either situation, but still - he worries for them both. The two of them find solace in each other, but he wishes he could do more after all they’ve both done for him. 

When they aren’t discussing politics, Clarke tells him stories about their friends, and one day, she brings him a gift. “Drawing clears my head,” she explains, as she gives him a leather-bound book of empty pages and several pencils. “I thought you might like to try.”

He’s no artist, and most of his ‘drawings’ turn out to be indecipherable, but she’s right. It does clear his head. It feels good to think something, and then turn it into something physical that anyone can see. It feels good to create. 

When she needs a break, Lexa spends time with him, as well. She’s a good listener, and he opens up to her a bit as his trust deepens, and he’s pleased every time he can make her laugh. Slowly, she begins teaching him some Trigedasleng, so that he can better communicate with those in the city. He’s never been a quick learner when it comes to things like that, but he studies more than he has to, and eventually he can hold a decent, though sometimes broken, conversation. 

Life is peaceful - for a time. 

Titus visits more and more frequently. Each time they talk, Lexa leaves the conversation angrier than the last. “I think,” he says, during one of these times when Lexa’s pacing irritably around his room, having just argued with Titus, “that you need a new advisor.”

She stops, fixing him with a cold gaze. “Titus is my Flamekeeper. He...I have known him my entire life.”

“I understand,” Murphy says, “but he sounds like a dick.”

Lexa knits her brows. “What does that mean?”

He laughs softly. “I just mean he doesn’t understand what you’re doing,” he says. “He doesn’t get what you’re building here. He wants things to remain the way they always have, and he doesn’t want you to change things.”

“I am making changes for the betterment of my people!” she snaps. “I am building a life of peace for them.”

“Yeah, and  _ I _ know that,” he says, “and Clarke does, too - but if he doesn’t understand that, and if he can’t, then maybe get a different advisor.”

Lexa’s silent for a moment, but then she nods. “You have given me much to think about,” she says, before she leaves, and Murphy isn’t quite sure how to take that. 

The next morning, Clarke returns, and Lexa reveals to them both that after Titus had once again insisted she banish the Skaikru people in her presence, she’d banished him instead. 

“Are you sure?” Clarke asks. 

“He did not respect my status,” Lexa sighs. “And he did not respect my rule. For a Flamekeeper, that is treason.”

Murphy nods in understanding, but he can’t quite ignore the uneasiness that settles in his stomach. The familiar ache in his bones returns. When he looks above his head, he does not see Death hanging there, but their presence is there all the same, something he hasn’t felt since he’d first come to Polis. He hadn’t missed it. 

For a time, life is peaceful, but all things must end. 

* * *

The day starts easy. 

The sun rises, as it always does, and somewhere around midday he makes his way to Lexa’s room where they wait for Clarke. She’s supposed to arrive sometime during the day. Until then, he and Lexa sit comfortably and discuss trivial matters, switching in and out of Trigedasleng so he can practice. 

The day starts easy, until the doors burst open and Clarke rushes inside, out of breath. Instantly, Lexa’s on her feet and at her side, offering support. “Clarke, what has happened?” she asks. It’s clear to both of them from the expression on her face that she doesn’t bring good news. 

When she’s regained a fraction of composure, she looks straight at Murphy, her eyes dark and full of storms. “It’s bad,” she says. “It’s really bad, Murphy. Arkadia...it’s really, really bad.”

He stands, too, stomach twisting in knots. “What happened?”

She sighs, going over whatever events happened in her mind before she speaks. He’s done that so many times himself, it’s easy to recognize. “The people turned against Jaha,” she explains. “He tried to assert control, and they rioted, violently. They banished him out of the camp.”

“The bastard deserves that,” he says, instantly. “That’s not bad news.” 

Clarke’s expression doesn’t lighten. “Once he was gone,” she continues, “Pike rallied for control. Most of the guard went with him, and about half of the people.”

“And the other half?”

“They follow Kane,” she says. “They refused to follow Pike, so he got the guard to enact military control. Both sides are prepping for battle. Arkadia is about to fall into civil  _ war _ .” 

His breath quickens, the familiar panic he’s worked for so long to escape from creeping back into his lungs. “What about Bellamy?” he asks. “And Raven? And all our friends?”

“Bellamy lost his place on Pike’s council,” Clarke says. “He openly defied him, and tried to convince his followers to go with him, but it didn’t work. Everyone is fine, for now, but - I don’t think they will be for long.”

He swallows, and sighs, the sound of his heartbeat drumming through his mind. “We have to go,” he says. “Maybe - Maybe if I return, then I can try to calm people down. It was my leaving that started all this, maybe I can fix it.”

“We’re past the point of simple solutions,” Clarke says, “but I am going to go back and do what I can, and save whoever I can. I know it’s a lot to ask, but Murphy, we -  _ I _ could really use your help.”

He feels nothing but his chest being shredded to pieces by incoming bullets when he thinks of returning to Arkadia, but it isn’t a lot to ask, not when the safety of his friends are at question. He thought staying in Polis was the safest option for all of them, but clearly, he was wrong. Hundreds of men died in the mountain at his hand, and now the lives of all his friends are in jeopardy because of a choice that he made. 

Murphy is Death; Death is Murphy. It was foolish to think otherwise. 

“Of course I’ll come with you,” he tells her, and Clarke grins, relieved. 

“I’m sorry to leave so soon, Lexa,” she says, but Lexa only shakes her head. 

“I wish the both of you well,” she says, “and remember that there is always a place for you both here, and I hope you are able to return. I do not understand most of Skaikru’s ways, but I hope you are able to convince them to find a peaceful path.”

The sentiment is barely out of her mouth when the door flings open again, and both he and Clarke stumble backwards out of shock. Only Lexa keeps her composure, eyes narrowing when she sees who it is. “What are you doing here?” she says, her voice low. “You dare defy my rule, so openly?”

The shock subsides, and Murphy sees who it is, heart sinking. Titus stands in the doorway, a small silver gun in his right hand. Next to him, Death stands tall. 

“I cannot allow this to continue,” Titus says, stepping inside and letting the door fall shut. “You have allowed yourself to become distracted. It is my duty to remove these distractions.”

“I banished you,” Lexa hisses, but she recognizes the weapon he carries and doesn’t move closer. “Coming to Polis is an act of treason. You will be executed.”

“If you decide that is best, I will accept my fate,” he says, “but my spirit will rest easy, knowing I have done the right thing.”

With that, he raises the weapon towards Clarke, and he fires. 

The shot goes wide. Clarke scrambles away, grabbing a candle from the table and hurling it at him, but this has no effect. He’s inexperienced with a weapon like that, and it takes him a second to prepare another shot, but his arm raises again, ready to fire. 

It happens very quickly, but it feels like years go by as Murphy watches the gun raise, Titus’ finger steady over the trigger. He’s aiming at Clarke, but she’s moving, and so is Lexa. Death’s in the room for a reason. He won’t let it be for one of them. 

Titus pulls the trigger. The bullet leaves the chamber with a  _ bang _ . Murphy throws himself in its path, knocking Lexa to the floor and crying out only once as the bullet rips through his side. 

His vision clouds over, but when he focuses he sees Titus standing still with fear in his eyes. “You saved my life,” Lexa realizes. She stands, and he manages to sit up, but the wound is bleeding fast and he can’t make it all the way. It’s not fatal, not necessarily, so it isn’t going to heal on its own, which makes it all the more painful. 

“Titus!” Clarke is saying. Her hands are in the air, and she’s doing what she always does best - try to negotiate. “You don’t know what you’re doing, don’t you see?”

“No,” Titus says, “you are wrong.”

Murphy sees now that despite his actions, Death is still in the room. He realizes what’s about to happen a few seconds before it does, but he doesn’t have the strength to cry out or try to stop it. Lexa’s barely recovered from her shock, and Clarke’s still trying to get through to him. They have no idea. 

“I have failed you,” Titus says, and then he raises the gun to his head and pulls the trigger. Blood splatters against the wall, and in seconds the body of the Flamekeeper falls to the floor, dead. Death’s tendrils envelop the corpse, taking what they came to take, before they float away and disappear into the shadows. 

The room falls very, very still. Clarke turns towards them, clear shock in her eyes, but her gaze zeroes in on him and she approaches. “Murphy, are you okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” he manages to say. The pain’s already subsiding, though he doesn’t know if that’s because he’s used to it, or his life will be taken. It doesn’t matter in the end, he supposes. 

Lexa slowly makes her way over to the body, picking up the gun and holding it gingerly in her hands. “Such a monstrosity,” she whispers, and only for a moment he sees her hands shake. “Such cruelty in this weapon.”

It’s at this second that the door opens again, revealing a Grounder warrior. He may have come to see what the noise was about, or maybe he was there on official business, but it didn’t matter. When he enters, he sees the Flamekeeper dead on the floor, and he sees the Commander holding the weapon that killed him. Lexa realizes what this means, but this is a situation she’s had no preparation for. 

“You killed him?” the warrior whispers, backing out of the room. 

“No,” Lexa says, and then louder, “No! Listen-”

But he’s gone, racing down the hallway. “The Commander killed the Flamekeeper!” he shouts at the top of his lungs, screaming it over and over as he races down the staircase of the tower and out of earshot. 

“They won’t believe him,” Murphy whispers, “will they?”

Lexa looks at him, real fear in her eyes. He’s never seen her afraid, not like this. “They will,” she says. “I have lost much of my control. My people disagree that  _ blood must not have blood. _ Titus has sown the seeds of dissent. I will be removed of command.”

“What does that mean?” Clarke asks. 

“It means the Flame will be taken from me,” Lexa says, “and then I will be killed.”

Clarke swallows, then shakes her head. “No,” she says, “I won’t let that happen.”

“Clarke,” Lexa says, softly, but even she can’t get through to her, not right now. 

Suddenly, the attention is on him. “Murphy, can you stand? We’re going to have to get out of here,  _ now _ .”

Even from this high up, he can hear people yelling down below. “Shoot me,” he says. “I’m not healing, but if you kill me, I will. I can’t travel like this.”

“Murphy, no, I-”

“Just do it,” he hisses through gritted teeth. “It’s fine. Make it a headshot, it won’t hurt.”

Clarke’s eyes are pained, but she nods resolutely and takes the gun, slowly aiming it at his head. “I’m so sorry,” she says. “We’re going to find a way out of here, and we’re going to save our friends. I’m  _ going _ to make this work.”

He nods, and then closes his eyes, taking one last breath before the bullet sinks through his brain.

* * *

_ “I ruin everything,” Murphy sighs, sitting on the floor of the between with his legs close to his chest and his back against the wall.  _

_ “What makes you say that?” Death asks, high and mighty as always on their throne.  _

_ “They had peace,” he says. “I had peace. Clarke and Lexa could have been happy, but now Lexa’s lost everything, Arkadia is in ruins, and we’re on the run - or, maybe we’re already captured. I don’t know.” _

_ Death hums. “Titus fired the weapon,” they say. “If you were not there, do you think Lexa would have lived?” _

_ “If I wasn’t there, maybe everyone would have lived.” _

_ At this, Death laughs. “John, we are having a conversation, yes?” _

_ “What?” _

_ “We are speaking to each other. We are of two minds, holding a conversation, with two very different opinions. Is this not true?” _

_ The relevance of this point is lost on him, so Murphy just sighs. “Yes, we are having a conversation.” _

_ “Right,” Death says, “then you and I are  _ not _ one in the same.” _

_ He doesn’t get a chance to reflect on this point. Instead, the between fades around him, and for as long as he can, he rests his head against the wall and feels a deep emptiness take hold of him.  _

_ Murphy’s tired of fighting, but he doesn’t have a choice - not anymore. _

_ Life was peaceful, for a time, but he has never known peace.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am so sorry this took so long again, but it's a longer update, so i hope you like that! to be honest, updates probably won't be super quick from here on out. school just started for me again, and i'm going back to working my full hours because of re-opening, and i might be moving, etc etc etc. lots happening! so i'll do my best, but i can't promise speed. 
> 
> also - i planned out the rest of this, and we are looking at 16 chapters & an epilogue/ending. so, lots of stuff to come! i hope you enjoy it as much as i do. 
> 
> thank you so much for reading! you can find me on twitter @reidsnora :)


	10. death without a dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is gather'd into death without a dawn,  
> And the immortal stars awake again;  
> So is it in the world of living men  
> A godlike mind soars forth, in its delight  
> Making earth bare and veiling heaven, and when  
> It sinks, the swarms that dimm'd or shar'd its light  
> Leave to its kindred lamps the spirit's awful night."

Murphy wakes to darkness.

His body comes back to life with a gasp as feeling returns all at once, much like an electric shock coursing through his bones. It’s getting harder, he’s realized, each time. Before, he could stand right up and start running after he revived, but now he feels exhausted, like he’s already  _ been _ running. 

Still, the memories flood back, and despite the ache he feels he opens his eyes and tries to sit up, only to realize that his eyes were already open, and he can’t move. His senses return, and he realizes that he’s underneath some kind of blanket, and there are ties around his arms and legs, limiting his mobility. Even more fear-inducing, the surface he’s on is moving, meaning he’s on some kind of cart that’s going to a destination he doesn’t know. 

For a moment, he thrashes in fear, thinking that Jaha’s got him again, or he’s being locked up for good, or whoever is driving the cart is taking him back to Arkadia to be experimented on, and there are bullets ripping through his chest and he’s in pieces, he’s still in pieces, and why is it always him, and when is it  _ his _ turn to catch a break, and - 

A gentle hand presses onto his shoulder, and through the darkness, he blinks. The simple contact grounds him. His eyes haven’t fully adjusted to the dim light, but when he turns his head to the left, there’s Lexa. She’s underneath the blanket as well, though she’s not tied up at all. Slowly, without moving the blanket, she places a finger on her mouth to tell him to be quiet. 

There’s no one else there. It’s just him and Lexa, meaning that Clarke’s probably driving the cart and - he’s safe.  _ He’s safe.  _

Murphy tries to breathe as slowly and evenly as possible, though the loose bindings still tear into his skin, and the distant sound of Jaha’s smug, evil laughter burrows into his brain. 

_ Safe or not, it’s never going to get any easier,  _ he thinks, but still, he closes his eyes and lets the rest of the journey go by in darkness and silence. 

* * *

Murphy spends the rest of the journey staving off a panic attack, but Clarke’s plan to get them out of the city turns out to be fairly foolproof. 

During the chaos that ensued in Polis after Titus’ body was found, they’d escaped to the stables, and stolen a supply cart, using both Clarke’s horse Roscoe, and one of Lexa’s horses, named Galanthe, to pull it. Lexa herself had hidden in the back of the cart with Murphy’s body, blocking anyone’s view of the blanket covering them with the boxes of supplies that had been on the cart to begin with. Clarke, covering as much of her face as she could with a hooded shawl, had driven the cart out of Polis just as the search for the Commander had begun. She’d taken them as far as the horses could take without rest, and by that time, they were a decent way out of Polis, stopped in the middle of the woods about halfway between the city and Arkadia. 

She’d also taken the silver gun with them. Though he understands the need for protection, Murphy shudders when he thinks about that decision.

As soon as the cart comes to a stop, Lexa throws the blanket off them both and hops out with surprising speed. The sudden appearance of the setting sun blinds Murphy for a few seconds, but when his eyes finally adjust, there’s Clarke leaning over and holding out her hand. 

“You alright?” she asks as he takes the assistance, letting Clarke do most of the work to pull him upright. He feels stiff, all over, and though he’s no longer confined to the darkness the fear still feels fresh. 

It’s not hard to notice the way she keeps looking at his forehead, where she’d shot him, as if the wound is going to reappear any second. “I’m fine,” he promises, though it isn’t completely true. “Is she going to be?” He gestures off to the side of the clearing they’re stopped in, where Lexa is standing, facing away from them and towards the trees. He knows her well enough at this point to tell that she’s doing her best to contain her emotions, as she’s been trained to do, but it isn’t working. 

“She just lost everything,” Clarke says, softly. “Her whole life has been training to be the Commander, and now…”

“Now, her people think she’s a murderer,” Murphy finishes, sighing. “This isn’t good, is it? For anyone?”

Clarke’s expression is tight, but she’s silent and thoughtful as she helps him stand and get out of the back of the cart. “She’s going to be on the run forever,” Clarke finally says. “And Arkadia can forget about a peace treaty - everything that Lexa did, every change that she made, it’s going to be erased.”

Murphy lets out a breath, unsure of what to say after that. No matter who becomes Commander next, or how long it takes for their government to stabilize, Skaikru will be blamed for the exile of the last Commander. If Arkadia hadn’t already collapsed from the impending civil war that Clarke had come to warn them about, soon they would be trapped in a war they had no way of winning. 

Despite everything that’s just happened, he thinks of all the people they’d left behind at Arkadia, and the situation becomes very simple. “We have to help our friends,” he says. 

“Yeah,” Clarke agrees, “I’m just not sure how to do that, anymore.”

He wants to comfort her. He wants to promise her that everything is going to work itself out, but even though he wants to believe that’s true, he can’t find the words. Instead, he simply nods, and then his eyes turn back onto Lexa. Her fists are at her sides, curled up in anger, and she shakes slightly even though the sun hasn’t yet set. 

Hesitantly, Clarke approaches her. “Lexa?” she says. 

Lexa’s spine stiffens. Still, she doesn’t move. Murphy debates moving to her side, but his feet stay planted in the dirt. There’s nothing he can do here, but still, he aches for her. 

“Lexa,” Clarke tries again, moving closer, tentatively placing a hand on her arm in comfort and support. “It’s not over. We can fix this - we  _ will _ fix this.”

For a moment, Lexa stands still, but then she moves out of Clarke’s grip and turns to face them, quickly stepping back so she’s out of arm’s reach. “It is over,” she snaps. Murphy’s eyes go wide when he sees the pure anger and fear contained in her gaze. 

“No,” Clarke argues, staying firm. “It isn’t. You didn’t do anything wrong! We can clear your name, and get you reinstated as Commander-”

_ “No!” _ Lexa cries, so suddenly that even Murphy staggers backwards. “I am a  _ killer _ , Clarke. My people know it. And now I have run, choosing to hide in shame instead of facing my fate honourably.”

Clarke shakes her head quickly. “They would have killed you! Escaping Polis was the only way for you to live!”

“If my people decide I should die,” Lexa says, her voice low, “then that is what must be done. That is what an honourable Commander would do.”

“You’re innocent!” Clarke protests. “Titus was going to kill you! If Murphy hadn’t been there, he  _ would _ have!”

Lexa’s eyes move briefly onto Murphy’s face, but she drops the gaze quickly. Still, he can tell - she isn’t sure if she’s grateful for what he did or not. The thought twists his stomach in knots, but he doesn’t say anything to deter her. He knows what it’s like, to feel that way, and he knows nothing he says in this moment will change it. “Titus died because of my rule,” she says. There’s no emotion in her voice, only defeat. “His blood is on my hands. I am guilty of that.”

“No,” Clarke insists. “You banished him - he  _ chose _ to bring a weapon into Polis. He chose to die. You didn’t do that.”

“Think what you wish,” Lexa says, “but my rule is over. I have done a dishonourable thing by abandoning my post, and I have brought shame to myself, my ancestors, and all the Commanders before me.”

Murphy carefully watches her expression, knowing that she truly believes what she’s saying, and he can’t hold it in anymore. “Is that what you believe?” he asks, “Or is that what the Commanders in your head are telling you?”

Lexa’s eyes go wide. Immediately, she wraps a hand around the back of her own neck, her fingers feeling the scar. “The Flame,” she whispers, horror growing on her face. “I have stolen the Flame.”

“What do you mean?” Clarke asks. 

“The Flame,” Lexa starts, but then breaks off when the words become too difficult to say. She’s shaking more noticeably, now, and where there was once anger at herself in her eyes there is only guilt and fear. “The Flame is our most sacred symbol. I have stolen it. I have taken it from my people, I - take it out.”

“ _ What _ ?” Clarke says, but Lexa pays her no mind. 

“Take it out,” she continues, and then looks up, and fixes Clarke with the most defiant gaze he’s ever seen. “Clarke, I  _ need _ you to do this for me.  _ Please _ .”

Clarke stutters for a second, looking at Murphy for support, but he has nothing to offer. Truthfully, he understands where Lexa’s coming from, and though he disagrees with her thoughts, he’d probably ask the same in her position. “Okay,” Clarke finally agrees, “but I don’t know how to do that properly, and I don’t have any sterile equipment, and we are in the middle of  _ nowhere _ .”

“Please,” Lexa repeats. Her voice is dangerously close to breaking. It’s unnerving, hearing that kind of vulnerability from her. “I do not deserve to hear their guidance. I am no longer the Commander. I cannot carry the Flame.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Clarke nods, moving back over to the cart and gesturing for Lexa to follow. “Lie down in there,” Clarke says. “I’ll secure the horses, and then...I’ll do my best.”

Lexa nods, stiffly, and slowly makes her way over to the cart. Before she can make it all the way, Murphy grabs her arm to stop her. “Wait,” he says, the words coming before he has a chance to think them over. “Are you doing this because  _ you _ want to, or because you think you have to?”

Her eyes soften, and so does he. He knows exactly what she’s doing, grasping for something that she can physically control when it feels like she’s lost everything, and all her decisions are being made for her. He lets go of her arm, knowing he can’t stand in her way of that. Still, she answers. “I do have to,” she says. “My people can think what they wish, but I will not betray them - not more than I already have.”

Murphy nods, then lets her pass as she climbs onto the back of the cart. He, too, clambers back into it, clearing the space. It doesn’t take long for Clarke to join them, a container of water, some cloth and a small knife the only supplies she’s managed to find. Lexa lays down on her stomach, moving her hair to the side and exposing the thin vertical scar on the back of her neck. Across it is a tattoo of two circles, making a symbol Murphy thinks he’s seen before, but he doesn’t recognize. Murphy sits gingerly at her left, and Clarke gets herself ready on her right. 

“I’ve never seen this done,” Clarke begins. “I don’t - I don’t even know what the Flame  _ is _ , Lexa. Are you sure you want to do this now? We could go back to Arkadia first, and my mother could help-”

“No,” Lexa says. She’s resting her head on her arms, and she’s trying to stay still, but her hands are shaking. Without thinking, Murphy reaches forwards and grabs one of her hands in his own, squeezing it in comfort. She smiles, and the shaking subsides slightly. “I trust you,” she continues. “I trust you to do this.”

Clarke lets out a breath, and then nods. “Okay,” she says. 

“When it is exposed to the air,” Lexa says, “you must say  _ quia nunc vale _ , and it will remove itself.”

Murphy exchanges a confused glance with Clarke. “It will remove itself?” he questions, disregarding the curious phrase that isn’t English or Trigedasleng. 

“Yes,” Lexa says, as if what she’s said is the most nonchalant thing in the world. “The Flame is alive. You will see.”

Clarke blinks, then puts it out of her mind. “It can’t be too deep,” she says, “but this is going to hurt.”

Without further hesitation, she lines the knife up with the scar and gingerly cuts down it, opening the skin. Black blood oozes from the wound. They know of the existence of Nightbloods, and they know that only Nightbloods could become the Commander, but seeing the inky black colour when he’s expecting red is still a shock. Still, without missing a beat, Clarke gingerly uses the cloth to clean the area as much as she can. Lexa never makes a second. She doesn’t even scream, though the grip on Murphy’s hand tightens with every passing second. 

He feels sick looking at the open, bleeding cut, but Clarke lets out a little gasp and he forces himself to look at what she’s seeing. Just barely nested inside Lexa’s neck, hardly below the skin at all, is what has to be the Flame. His jaw drops, unsure of what to make of it. It’s small and bright blue, neither of which he was expecting. Printed on top of it are two circles joined together, the exact same symbol that’s tattooed on the back of Lexa’s neck. Murphy grew up on the Ark - he’s seen enough machinery to know he’s looking at a piece of technology. 

Clarke’s looking at it, puzzled, but then the grip on his hand tightens even more and Murphy can’t drag this out any longer than it has to go. “Quia nunc vale,” he says, doing his best to mimic Lexa’s pronunciation. Instantly, the blue lights of the flame go dim. Clarke’s brow furrows, and gingerly she reaches in and grabs it with two fingers, pulling at it slightly. It detaches with little resistance, but from beneath the cylindrical chip, several thin tendrils snake outwards. These must have been rooted deeper inside than the actual chip, as when they release themselves, Lexa lets out a sharp gasp, the only sound she’s made. Within seconds, the tendrils curl up towards the chip itself, disappearing somewhere inside of it. The entire thing goes dark. 

Then - it’s done. “I don’t have a needle or thread,” Clarke curses, setting the Flame down beside her for now. Still, she begins to fashion a makeshift bandage out of the cloth she has, while Murphy turns his attention to Lexa. 

She’s fighting off tears. Even now, with only them around and a wound in her neck, she’s doing her best to contain and control her emotions, trying with every fiber of her being to exude strength. “Hey,” he says, softly. There’s a lot he could say here, and he knows most of it won’t matter - he’s been in her position, and there wasn’t anything anyone could say to him that would help. “You know,” he settles on, tentatively, “it’s okay to be sad about this.”

It was a long time ago, but Murphy remembers being in the engineering tent with Bellamy at his side like it was only hours before. He’d cried, then, for the first time in a long time, after taking up the mantle of  _ the angel of death _ and winning the support of the crowd, after Jaha had forced his hand. He’d cried, and it had felt horrible, and embarrassing, and shameful, but Bellamy was there. No words had passed between them, but it didn’t matter. He had been there, and that had made all the difference. 

Murphy firmly squeezes Lexa’s hand, and he gives her the softest smile he knows how to do. For a moment, she’s still, but then the facade crumbles in seconds and her eyes glaze over, tears spilling without restraint. 

Lexa sobs, during and well after Clarke has finished doing the best she can with the bandage and grabbed Lexa’s other hand. She, too, looks on the verge of tears. The sun slowly sets. A chill settles throughout the clearing. The birds begin to sing their evening songs. 

Still, Lexa cries, mourning the loss of her position, her people, and all that she’d ever known. She weeps for the loss of her home, her safety, and her peace. For the first time, Lexa looks as young as she really is. 

Lexa cries, and he is there, and that makes all the difference. 

* * *

They take turns on watch for the night. Even when it’s his turn to sleep, Murphy can’t bring himself to for long. He feels completely, utterly, terrifyingly numb. When he closes his eyes, he sees Titus bringing the gun to his head, and he feels Finn’s bullets rip him to pieces, but he doesn’t feel any pain. He doesn’t feel sad or angry, like he used to. 

He’s tired. 

Still, in the morning he rouses, and he eats and drinks with Clarke and Lexa as he knows he should. “We should get to Arkadia by tonight,” Clarke’s saying. “I took us the long way around - I wanted to stay out of the way, if anyone came looking.”

“What happens when we get there?” he asks. “They’re not exactly fond of me.”

“Jaha is banished,” Clarke reminds him. “He’s got no power there. I know you don’t want to hear this, Murphy, but  _ you _ have more power there than you think you do.”

She’s right - he doesn’t want to hear it. “Right,” he says, dryly. “I’ll just make another speech, then, and all our problems will be solved.”

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

He does. It doesn’t mean he has to like it. 

They stand, each of them getting ready to begin the journey to Arkadia. The horses, Roscoe and Galanthe, have rested overnight and Clarke begins fastening them to the cart. Lexa and Murphy are about to hop in the back, when the bushes rustle off to the side and they hear the distinct sounds of someone approaching. Before he realizes what he’s doing, Murphy grabs the silver gun from the corner of the cart, just in case. It feels sick to hold it, knowing what atrocities it has committed, knowing that he himself had fallen at its hand, but his grip tightens despite it all. 

There’s advantages to being numb to it all, he thinks, as he neatly buries down his fear. Maybe it will be easier this way. 

Thelonious Jaha steps out of the bushes. Murphy’s blood runs cold, but he does not falter. 

“What are  _ you _ doing here?” Clarke says, stepping towards him, both aggressive and protective. 

Jaha looks the same as he did when Murphy had last seen him, from the confinement of his private cell. His beard is longer, and his eyes look tired, but that smug arrogance is still evident in his stature. He glances at Clarke, but quickly turns his attention to Murphy, his smile slowly growing. “John,” he says. “What a  _ pleasure _ to see you here.”

Murphy says nothing. Lexa’s looking at them all, confused, but she, too, stays quiet. “Answer the question,” Clarke cuts in. 

“I believe you were present when I was exiled,” Jaha says, and he sighs. “I have decided to find the City of Light. My earlier invitation still stands. You  _ all  _ may accompany me, if you like.”

“Go float yourself,” Murphy snaps. 

Jaha, though, only laughs. “Oh, John. When will you come to your senses?”

“You should leave,” Clarke says. “We’re on our way back to Arkadia, and we all know you can’t follow.”

“I wouldn’t want to,” Jaha says. He doesn’t stop looking at Murphy. It’s unsettling, the way he seems to stare right into Murphy’s soul. “That place, those people...they didn’t understand. They  _ can’t _ understand the true forces at work - isn’t that right, John?”

It feels very clear, then, somehow. Jaha’s been the source of his restraints for as long as he can remember, both up on the Ark and then once again on the ground. He’s the reason that Murphy has lost everything and everyone he cared about, and yet when he looks at him, in this moment, he feels no fear, no pain, and no anger. He feels absolutely nothing at all. “Maybe,” Murphy says, “but neither do you.”

Jaha laughs, holding his arms out to the side as he does so. It’s irritating, seeing how comfortable he feels in his arrogance. “I have learned to have faith,” he says, “while you never have. Even now, I understand that. I can teach you. I’d like to show you.”

Clarke and Lexa are still there, but he has no awareness of them. The world becomes very, very small until it’s just him and Jaha, staring at each other, locked in some sort of battle he can’t name. “You don’t know anything,” Murphy says quietly, and he realizes then that it’s true. The man is a fool, driven insane by his time on the ground - there’s never been anything more to it. 

“You are still living in delusion, I see,” Jaha says. “How unfortunate.”

“You don’t know  _ anything _ ,” Murphy repeats, and then he’s moving forwards, slowly, one step at a time. The gun hangs heavy in his hand. “But you stole everything from me.”

Jaha raises an eyebrow at Murphy’s change in demeanour, but that stupid smile doesn’t leave his face. “Did I?”

“You ruined my life,” Murphy continues. His tone is flat, no hint of emotion traceable in it at all. “You ruined my friends’ lives. There is so much blood on your hands.”

“Think what you want,” Jaha says, shrugging. “I know the truth, and so can you, if you let me show you.”

He does, though. He does know the truth. It’s all frighteningly, perfectly, crystal clear. “Get on your knees,” he says, softly. 

Jaha blinks, his facade dropping for the first time. “I’m sorry?”

“Get on your knees,” Murphy repeats, and then he’s holding the gun out in front of him, aimed perfectly at Jaha’s chest. 

He pauses, but then, slowly, Jaha sinks to the dirt. “Murphy, wait,” Clarke says, off in the distance, but he barely hears her at all. Instead, he steps forwards, levelling the gun until the barrel is only inches from Jaha’s skull. 

“Is this what you want?” Jaha asks. “Is this what you think your father would have wanted for you? You forget - I knew him. I knew what he wanted.”

Death creeps out of the forest, slinking behind trees and weaving its way through branches. They hang at Murphy’s peripheral vision, until he blinks, and Death is no longer there. He watches as haunting black tendrils wrap around his own arm, and his shadow grows against the dirt. A fire ignites in his chest as he and Death share the same space and become one. 

“You don’t know anything,” Murphy says. He hears Death speak as he does, several voices chiming in at once as he passes his own judgement. Distantly, he thinks that this should be terrifying to him, but he pays that voice no mind, just as he tunes out Clarke’s protests from somewhere behind him. Right now, he feels potential. He feels tall. 

He feels absolutely nothing at all. 

“I do,” Jaha counters. He looks small, down on his knees in the dirt. It’s hard to believe that this is the same man that ruled the Ark with an iron fist. “I know more than you can ever hope to.”

“You don’t know half of what you think you do,” Murphy says. “Pretty pathetic, if you ask me.”

Jaha tilts his head to the side. “Think what you want,” he repeats. “I know the truth.”

Murphy sighs, long and slow. “The people call me the angel of death,” he says. “Tell me - do you think that’s true? Is that what I am to you?”

Jaha’s still, for a long moment, but then a harrowing, wicked grin spreads across his face and he leans forwards until his forehead makes contact with the barrel of the gun. Murphy doesn’t flinch or move back. “You tell me, John,” he says. “Is that what you want to be?”

_ Death is a mercy. Not everyone gets that.  _ A long time ago, that was the rule that he lived his life by. He thought that it was easier in death, and that life was one painful event after another that everyone else but him got to escape from. He knows that’s not true, now. He knows it’s a cruelty. For a while, he thought it was his job to stave Death off, to save his friends from it, but he’s brought it one too many times for that to be true. 

He remembers, back in the mountain, before he’d killed the hundreds of innocents inside, how Clarke had killed Dante and Death had failed to show up. He’d thought it was curious then, but now he understands, as Death’s own cloak wraps around his body. Death had been there for all of it. He was there, so Death was there. 

It all becomes clear. 

Murphy looks Jaha in the eye. He takes a deep breath, and then without wavering, pulls the trigger. 

Blood sprays back, coating the dirt. In seconds, Jaha’s body falls to the ground in a heap. That twisted smile is still on the corpse’s face, but there’s shock in his eyes, proof of a genuine moment of awareness before his life ended. 

He drops the gun, letting it fall to the ground next to its victim. At his feat lies the man responsible for most of the hardship Murphy has ever faced, yet as he stares at the body, he feels no more free than he did a second ago. He feels no regret, either. 

Slowly, he turns around. Clarke and Lexa are both staring at him, neither of them protesting his actions, but each of them visibly unsure of what to say. “Let’s go,” he says, filling in the silence. “Arkadia needs our help.”

Without a word, Clarke finishes readying the horses, he hops in the back with Lexa, and they pull out of the clearing, leaving Jaha’s body behind for the birds and the bugs to have their way with it. 

* * *

They see the smoke before they hear the screams. 

“That’s Arkadia,” Clarke calls back with horror, as the three of them watch as thick clouds of smoke rise above the trees, all coming from one location. She urges the horses to hurry as they draw closer. The day has passed in almost its entirety, and dusk has now fallen, making the whole scene that much more eerie. 

The cries hit their ears next, so loud that they assault the rest of their senses. Several small explosions sound - gunfire, he thinks, or something worse. 

It’s then that the familiar pit in Murphy’s stomach makes a reappearance. He’s felt it ever since he was forced to leave Bellamy behind in a turbulent Arkadia.  _ Third time’s the charm _ , he’d said on their parting. The words haunt him, tossing themselves around his skull and back and forth between his ears. 

He feels absolutely nothing at all - except the pit in his stomach does not go away. 

They make it a little further on the cart before the smoke and the noise begins to scare the horses, and quickly they jump off, Clarke securing Roscoe and Galanthe with a speed he’s never seen. “Come on!” she yells, and they take off, running through the trees until they reach Arkadia’s gates. It wasn’t hard to guess what they’d find, but seeing it is something else. 

Arkadia is on fire. 

Tall, orange flames leap from the wreckage of the Ark, all of the metal burning into a charred husk. Around the blaze, people run and scream in all directions. There are guards at almost every corner, shooting wildly. Bodies lay in the field, bleeding out, more corpses joining them at every second. 

Once, in another life, Murphy had set the Ark on fire himself. Seeing it come to fruition in front of him, though, it feels all wrong. He’s watching a horror scene play out in front of him. Angel of death or not, he wants nothing to do with this. 

“We’re too late,” Clarke gasps, staggering backwards towards the trees. Fire dances in the reflection of her eye, and Lexa grabs her hand to steady her. He, too, feels like he’s going to fall over any second. His eyes glance over the field full of bodies, looking for any sign of familiarity, trying to find confirmation that his friends had fallen, even though he’s confident they must have, by now. 

“It’s gone,” he whispers. He isn’t talking about the Ark, though he, too, stands transfixed by it, watching the place he once called home melt into nothing before him. “It’s gone,” he repeats, but then - 

_ “Murphy!” _

His head snaps to the side, but he doesn’t get a chance to see who it is before there’s a pair of arms around him and he’s being pulled into someone’s chest. He doesn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around them, too. Even after all this time, he knows that voice anywhere. He’s felt this feeling of warmth and security before, and the familiarity of it all threatens to send tears to his eyes. 

“Bellamy,” he whispers, mourning the loss of his embrace as soon as they break apart. His hair and eyes are wild, but Bellamy is definitely standing before him. Murphy looks behind him, seeing Raven approaching as well, followed by several others. 

_ “Mom!” _ Clarke cries, reuniting with her mother, one of the ones in the group. Murphy recognizes the others as Jasper, Monty, Harper, Miller, and Jackson. 

“Bellamy,” Murphy repeats, “what  _ happened _ ?”

Bellamy, though, is looking over his shoulder at Lexa. “I could ask you the same,” he says, “but we have to go. We have to go,  _ now _ .”

Murphy doesn’t hesitate. There’s only time for him to briefly smile and reunite with Raven before he joins the group in running from Arkadia, leaving its flaming gates behind. They make it back to where they’d left their cart, when Clarke forces them to stop. “We have to help everyone there,” she says. “We have to - I don’t know, but we have to do something!”

Bellamy’s expression darkens. “We can’t,” he says. “We saved everyone that we could get out in time, and this is it.”

Clarke’s not happy with this answer, but before she can protest, Murphy gently grasps Bellamy’s hand and looks at him as kindly as he can. “What happened?” he asks. 

Bellamy sighs. “Pike and his followers forcibly took over Arkadia,” he explains. “Their control didn’t last long, and today, Kane’s followers fought back. I don’t know how the fire started, but the fight was outmatched right from the start. Pike’s people had all the weapons, and they started shooting on sight. It was a bloodbath. I don’t know if Pike is still alive, but...I know Kane isn’t.”

The air around them turns into that of collective mourning. Murphy didn’t have much of an attachment to anyone else at Arkadia, but he knows his friends did, and he doesn’t want to take that away from them. Still, he has to ask. “Where’s Octavia?”

Bellamy’s expression goes tight. “She went to Polis, with Lincoln,” he says, “before this all happened. Which is why I need to ask  _ you _ what happened.” He’s staring at Lexa, who looks at the ground, clearly feeling shame once again. 

Clarke’s still trying to work out a way to save Arkadia, even though it’s futile, so he explains. He tells them about his brief stay in Polis, and then what happened with Titus. For a second, Murphy’s about to tell them what happened with Jaha, but he decides to leave that out, for now. 

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” Raven says to Lexa, and he’s not the only one surprised at how genuine it is. 

“Thank you,” Lexa says, softly. “I, too, am sorry to hear what has happened to your home.”

Murphy isn’t. The Ark may have been a home, once, but it isn’t  _ his _ home. He hasn’t lost that - not yet. 

“There’s more,” Raven says. “Before the revolt happened, I was going over some diagnostics, and I found a weird reading. I looked into it further, and…” 

She trails off, faltering. “What is it?” Clarke asks. 

Raven swallows, and then looks up at each of them, feigning confidence. “The radiation levels on Earth are rising,” she says. “I think there’s going to be a second nuclear meltdown, and it’s going to happen soon.”

“How soon?” Bellamy asks. 

“It’s hard to say exactly,” she says, “but my best guess? We’ve got six months before all life on Earth is wiped out.”

Her words hang heavy in the air. None of them say anything, until Jasper, of all people, begins to laugh.  _ Death is a mercy. Not everyone gets that. _ The words he once lived by hang heavy in Murphy’s mind, and for the second time that day, he realizes he was wrong with them. 

They can’t go to Arkadia. They can’t go to Polis. They are all going to die in six month’s time. 

The ten of them stand in silence as the sun sets above them, the heat of Arkadia’s wreckage at their backs and smoke rising into the air. The only sound around them is Jasper’s heavy laugh, and despite the chill of Death in his bones, Murphy has never felt quite so haunted. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello once again! thank you for reading!
> 
> big thanks to oog for naming the second horse of this story, galanthe. he and roscoe will make triumphant returns, i swear. also, oog (oogaboogu on here) just posted the first half of an amazing murphamy hunger games au, so please go give that a read! you won't regret it. 
> 
> thank you for reading, seriously. as i said last update, i'm back in school and going back to work now, so life is a little busy, so i appreciate you all waiting a little longer than previous updates. and thank you so much to everyone who left a comment on the last chapter, it was really well received which warmed my heart <3 seriously. thank you. i can't say it enough. 
> 
> as always, i'm on twitter @reidsnora (though not spoiler free for the new season!). thank you! stay safe <3


	11. the wind his death lament

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ancient pulse of germ and birth  
> Was shrunken hard and dry,  
> And every spirit upon earth  
> Seemed fervourless as I.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some minor warnings for some religious trauma ideas in this chapter, i.e., the concepts of hell and things that go around that. it's super minor, but they are included.

Once again, the cart comes in handy as the group makes their trip through the dense forest that surrounds what is now the wreckage of Arkadia. It’s out of necessity that they move away from the flaming wreck - for all they know, Pike’s forces could have come out victorious, and then they’d all be shot on sight for so-called treason. 

“For all we know,” Miller says at once point, adjusting his grip on his gun like it’s the heaviest burden he has to carry, “everyone else is dead.”

It’s a good thing Jackson is there to offer reassurance, because Murphy has to fight to not roll his eyes. He may be scarily desensitized to death at this point, but he forgets that not everybody else is. Lexa, too, seems uncomfortable at the sentiment. She appears like a true warrior, walking forwards with them confidently, but she fiddles with her fingers absentmindedly, evidence of her distracted thoughts. 

They’ve been taking turns driving the cart, walking alongside it, and resting on the back of it. It’s moving slowly, because  _ they _ are moving slowly, every single member of their group exhausted. Still, mid-motion Harper slides off the back of the cart and passes him, gesturing towards it. “Your turn, Murphy,” she says.

He’s reluctant to get on, but he looks at every other member of the group and finds confirmation that, yes, he’s the last one to rotate in and get some rest. “Thanks,” he mutters, getting momentum and then pulling himself onto the back of the cart, trying not to shift his weight around too much to avoid disturbing Roscoe and Galanthe. 

Bellamy’s in the cart, too, sitting with his back against the side, and gazing into the treeline. Murphy sits across from him, and slowly their eyes find each others’. 

“Hey,” Murphy says, softly. Bellamy makes no move to respond, so he continues on. “Isn’t this around the time where you give us all a pep talk? Tell us that there’s hope?”

Bellamy blinks and offers a small smile in amusement. Only now does Murphy see the tears threatening to spill from his eyes. 

With a long breath, Murphy crosses the cart and sits next to him, letting silence settle over them for just a moment. “Come on, Bell,” he says, his voice low enough that no one else could hear him even if they were trying to. “Talk to me.”

“I don’t know, Murphy,” he says, and he looks away from him, keeping his eyes trained on the trees surrounding them. The cart moves slowly onwards, and their friends keep a steady pace, but Murphy pays it all no mind. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything.”

“They’re all  _ dead _ .” He stumbles on the last word, his voice breaking as he devotes a breath to what may as well be a forbidden word at this point. Still, Bellamy doesn’t turn his head or look at him.

Murphy’s quiet, for a moment. “I know.”

“They’re dead,” Bellamy whispers, “and they’re not coming back.”

It’s not meant that way, but the words sting against his skin. He’s right - people far more worthy than him have now been slaughtered, and none of them are coming back. Death is a weapon, he knows this now, and while Murphy may have been granted the power to wield it, he’d bring them all back in a second if he knew how to. “I know,” is all he can think to say. 

“I’m sorry,” Bellamy says. The sorrow in his voice is rich - despite having nothing to apologize for, he truly means it. “That wasn’t fair.”

Murphy sighs, shouldering his immortal guilt for now. “You’re right,” he says, but Bellamy doesn’t react. He reaches his hand up, then hesitates and pulls it back. A couple of seconds pass in contemplation, before Murphy blinks and reaches out, gently placing his hand on Bellamy’s chin and turning his face towards him, locking them both in each other’s gaze. 

In response, Bellamy absentmindedly places a hand on Murphy’s wrist, closing his fingers around it for stability. The light is dim, but his eyes shine. “Murphy?” he whispers, barely audible. 

“You’re right,” Murphy repeats, keeping his voice soft, too. “It isn’t fair. None of this is fair.”

“We should have stayed. We could have saved more of them. We could have put the fire out.”

Murphy would have laughed at the backwards thought process, if it wasn’t so sad. “You did everything you could,” he says. “None of us would be alive without you.”

“You would.”

He blinks, faltering in his response. “Yeah,” he finally says, “but without you, there wouldn’t be much point.”

Bellamy scoffs, but he smiles, too. Murphy’s hand still rests on his chin, and the sun is going down behind them. None of their friends are paying them the slightest bit of attention. It’s just the two of them, closer than they have been in a long time, and there’s a feeling of warmth settling in Murphy’s chest. He thinks, for a moment, that there’s more he could do here, and he leans in for just a second - 

No. Not like this. Not when Bellamy’s eyes are shining because of tears and not joy, and not when he’s looking at him like he can show him how to find the sun again. It feels right, for him, but he knows that in reality, it’s far from it. 

Instead, he drops his hand and wraps his arm around Bellamy’s shoulder, pulling him close, and letting him breathe. The cart moves forwards in silence, and so do they, even when Bellamy’s frame begins to tremble from the quiet tears finally falling down his cheeks. 

Forwards they go, and Murphy is there, and that makes all the difference. 

* * *

Half a day passes. It’s wrong to say that they run into her - rather, she runs into them. 

Abby and Clarke are sitting in the cart, talking in hushed voices about making some kind of plan or another. Bellamy and Miller walk near the front, while Monty and Harper walk at the back, the four of them the only ones with guns or any weapons at all. Jackson sits in the front seat of the cart, keeping the horses moving forwards, while Raven walks distractedly beside him, trying to solve the radiation problem in her mind. Lexa and Murphy stay together on the other side, the former Commander still too unsure of anyone but himself and Clarke to stay near them. 

He should say something to her, he thinks. He knows what it feels like to be cast out by his own people, and he knows the pain she’s in at having forcibly lost everything she’s ever known in less than a minute. Since birth, Lexa’s been trained to be a Commander, and now she’s lost all of that and is forced to travel with the very people she was at war with only months ago. The remnants of this conflict are evident at the way the others cast watchful eyes on Lexa as she walks. She keeps her gaze down, in return, focusing on moving forwards instead of meeting their challenge. 

Murphy can do nothing but scowl at those who stare at her, and hope that Lexa finds the courage to raise her head. He knows he’s got nothing helpful to say. 

The group has no destination in mind, and while they all know it, Murphy’s getting close to audibly pointing this out to them when a branch snaps somewhere to their left. Instantly, all four guns are drawn. It’s unspoken, but they all know they’re walking targets. They all know that people from all sides want them dead. 

Murphy’s almost expecting an army to charge them, but instead, a lone Grounder woman steps out of the woods. Her arms are raised in surrender, though her eyes are calculating as she scans the group, no doubt assessing their threat level and intentions. Back in Polis, Lexa had taught him some of the distinctive features of each clan, but he can’t tell which she belongs to. Her dark clothes don’t bear the markings of any clan, and her left hand is covered in a thick glove, which he’s never seen before. Murphy doesn’t mean to stare, but his attention is drawn to a curved tattoo that covers almost half of her face - still, though, he can’t tell its origins. 

“Who are you?” Miller says, holding his gun steady, aiming at her chest. Jackson pulls the reins on the horses, and the cart slows to a stop. 

The woman remains silent, but then her eyes fall on Lexa, recognition flashing through them. “The mighty  _ Heda _ ,” she says. “How far you have fallen.”

Lexa’s eyes narrow. “You are bold,  _ Frikdreina _ .”

Murphy doesn’t recognize the word, but as soon as it’s uttered the woman scowls and spits at Lexa in defiance, though she’s too far away for any of it to hit its target. Miller’s clearly growing impatient, adjusting his gun and firming his stance. “I said, who  _ are _ you?” he repeats. 

The woman glances over at him in amusement and indifference, clearly not threatened in the slightest. “My name is Emori,” she says, “and I will be on my way.”

She turns to leave and to disappear back into the trees, but then Clarke hops off the back of the cart and quickly approaches. “Wait!” she says, and somehow, Emori does stop. “Are you from Polis, or have you been there recently? Could you just tell us what’s going on there?”

Slowly, Emori turns back around. “You have not heard?”

“No,” Clarke says. “It’s just been us.”

“After the Commander’s exile,” Emori says, “Azgeda moved in. Polis belongs to the Ice Nation, now, and a young Nightblood named Ontari has taken command by force.”

“There’s an Ice Nation Commander now?” Bellamy says, voice wrapped with disbelief. Murphy can’t quite process this, either - it’s common knowledge that the Ice Nation are the most brutal and ruthless of the clans, and their disdain for Skaikru and Lexa’s alliance isn’t a secret, either. 

Emori nods. “Ontari’s rule is strict. There is no more alliance. Most other clans have fled Polis - the city belongs to Azgeda, and Azgeda only.”

It doesn’t make sense how this could happen in a matter of days, but it’s evident now just how tightly Lexa had managed everything. With her gone, and no plan in line for the next Commander, Azgeda probably had a very easy time taking control. Murphy’s stomach sinks as he thinks of the innocent people forced to flee, and how the place he once called home has been ravaged. 

Once, Polis had felt like a place that was safe from Death - but Death has always taken everything good from his life. He shouldn’t have thought this would be any different. 

Lexa’s trembling next to him, her hand instinctively reaching up to her neck where the Flame used to be. The rest of them are shaken, too, but Clarke presses on as she always does. “Are you fleeing Polis?” she asks. 

Emori laughs, a sound so out of tune with the somber mood in the clearing that Murphy’s heart skips a beat. “Polis was never my home,” she says. She gestures at Lexa then, continuing, “She knows, but I am a  _ Frikdreina.  _ A mutant. I was cast out of my clan at birth. I owe nothing to any of the clans, and as far as I am concerned, they are getting what was coming to them.”

“Azgeda is going to wipe them all out,” Clarke says, her voice trembling. Emori, true to her words, does not seem to care. 

Murphy notices then that Bellamy has stepped back, his eyes wide in panic and his hands shaking. The attention isn’t on him at all, but he quietly moves over to Bellamy’s side and places a hand on his shoulder to try and steady him. “Octavia’s in Polis,” he whispers, the words so soft that they’re barely audible even though Murphy’s right next to him. 

“She’ll be fine,” he promises, but it’s hard to put any sincerity behind it. “She’s got Lincoln with her, and she’s survived worse than this. I know she’ll be fine.”

“Yeah,” Bellamy says, “just like I knew  _ you _ were fine during those three months, when really Jaha had you locked up the whole time.”

And, well - what is he supposed to say to that?

Raven comes around the cart, then, drawing all of their focus to her. “What does it matter?” she says, the sharpness in her tone a stark contrast against the somber feeling in the air. 

“Polis is gone, Raven,” Clarke says. “Ice Nation will kill all of us in a second if they find us.”

“Did you all forget what I told you?” Raven continues, throwing her arms out to the side in genuine frustration. “It doesn’t  _ matter _ what happens to Polis! We’re all going to die in six months!”

They know. They all know, but none of them know how to talk about that, yet. 

Emori, though, doesn’t seem affected by the silence that falls. “Six months,” she repeats. “What is going to happen in six months?”

Raven regards her carefully, stepping forwards until she’s passed even Clarke. “Radiation levels are going to rise,” she explains. “There’s going to be a wave - a death wave, really - and it will wipe out everything.”

_ Death wave. _ He’d laugh at the irony if he wasn’t deeply afraid of being the only one left alive in a world that did nothing but burn. 

He heard stories, back on the Ark, back before he knew the truth about who he was - some people up there believed in things like  _ heaven _ and  _ hell _ . Murphy never understood them himself, but he knows that bad things went to hell to burn forever. He hasn’t had too much time to piece together this theory, but the thought has occurred to him that maybe, just maybe, Death has finally found a way to send him to the afterlife forever. 

Even Death, he supposes, will get tired of him, eventually. 

Emori, though, takes this in stride. “A second Primfaiya,” she says. “I knew the count meant something.”

Clarke’s brow furrows. “The count? What do you mean?”

Just as she’s about to speak, Emori’s lips purse and she glances at them nervously, as if she’s just realized she’s said too much. “Hey,” Raven says. Murphy’s genuinely shocked at how much she softens her voice, compared to the harshness she’d displayed minutes previously. “You can trust us. You can trust  _ me _ . I just want to save the earth.”

Emori sighs, but then she nods. “There is a lab,” she says, “surrounded by water. There is a woman there. I bring her tech for payment. In her lab, there is a countdown to something happening six months from now.”

“A lab?” Raven says, at the very same time Clarke starts asking about the woman. 

“I have a boat,” Emori continues. “I can take you there.”

The smile that takes over Raven’s face is possibly one of the most beautiful things Murphy’s ever seen. “Really?” she says. “You would do that for us?”

Emori looks over them all once more, and then nods. “I am alone,” she says. “I always have been. If what you say is true, and Praimfaya is happening soon, I would rather not spend it alone.”

Miller and some others don’t seem to be happy about it, but Emori turns and gestures for them to follow her as they start winding through the trees. This turn of events was not one that Murphy saw coming, but with Polis fallen to Azgeda and Arkadia destroyed, their options were limited. 

He gives Bellamy’s shoulder one last squeeze, and then he follows Emori through the forest. Truth be told, he’s excited to see the lab. It might be nice to spend some time indoors before hellfire comes and burns him for all eternity. 

* * *

The boat is barely big enough for all of them, but they manage to make it aboard. Roscoe and Galanthe, however, have to be left behind. 

Lexa’s having her own private moment with Galanthe before working up the nerve to set her free, so Murphy wanders over to where Clarke is undoing Roscoe’s harness. For her sake, he pretends not to notice as she hurriedly wipes a tear from her eye. 

“Roscoe saved my life a few times,” Murphy says softly. The horse seems to stare at him, as if aware of the sentiment being passed. 

Clarke smiles. “Mine, too.”

“They’ll be fine,” he says, more to convince himself than her. “And besides, if this lab really does carry the secrets of the radiation, or whatever, then we’ll save their lives, too.”

“I hope so,” she sighs. “I really, really hope so.” With that, the harness comes off. Just a little ways off, Lexa’s stepped back and is watching as Galanthe disappears into the horizon. Murphy watches her go, and then looks back at Roscoe, who is still standing there patiently. 

Clarke nods her thanks, and then steps away, letting Lexa come over and take her hand. Roscoe waits for just one more second, and then he turns and gallops away, following Galanthe into the unknown. 

For a moment, and just one, Murphy considers chasing after Roscoe and jumping on his back, riding off into the sunset and leaving all he knows behind. For the six months before the death wave, he’d be absolutely free - just himself, Roscoe and the wind on his face. He can think of no freer state of being, and besides, if he’s doomed to burn for all eternity, he may as well have some fun first. 

“Come on!” That’s Raven calling them from on the boat, shattering him free of his thoughts. The rest of their friends have finished loading their supplies from the cart onto the boat, and are now waiting to set sail. Murphy takes one last look at the disappearing horses, smiles to himself, and then steps onto the wooden deck. The boards creak when he steps on them. Now he’s sure of it - it’d be better to be with the horses. 

The boat pulls free of the coastline, moving across a lake that none of them had known existed until now. Murphy does absolutely nothing to help sail. He knows by now that it’s better, sometimes, when he stays out of the way. Still, he watches the land recede, eyes trained on the old cart they’d left abandoned at the edge of the trees. Much like Polis, it had been peaceful for a time. He’ll never admit that out loud, because he knows that life was anything but kind for anyone, but there’d been something nice about travelling with the people he cared about. At least they’d been in it together. 

Now, Emori’s directing the boat somewhere across the water. Murphy thinks he can see the outline of land in the distance, but he could be imagining it, too. Truth be told, he doesn’t like the way the boat rocks over the waves. He thought it’d feel freer, to sail over the water like this, but he only feels trapped. 

To take his mind off of it, he watches everyone else. Monty and Harper are huddled together near the corner of the boat, the sign of something more between them incredibly obvious. Miller and Jackson, too, are staying curiously close. Clarke leans over the opposite side of the boat with her mother and Raven, all of them talking in hushed voices. Lexa stays close to them, but hangs just a little ways off. Bellamy’s seated all by himself, and Murphy’s heart breaks when he sees how absolutely distraught he is. Murphy wants to go over there, wants to help him, but he doesn’t know what to say, or what could even possibly be said at all. There’s no easy fix for this, he knows that, but still, for reasons he doesn’t quite understand himself, he wants nothing more than to just sit by his side and feel warmth from his company. 

He’s about to finally approach, when Jasper comes up to him, instead. “Hey, asshole,” he says in a sing-song tone, smiling widely as he comes up to Murphy’s side and then throws his arms over the side of the boat, leaning out over the water and staring down at it. Murphy blinks, unsure of what to do, but then he slowly turns and places his hands on the side, joining him. 

“What can I do for you, Jasper?” he says, very quietly. He hasn’t forgotten what happened in their last interaction. 

It’s clear that Jasper hasn’t, either. “Oh, absolutely nothing,” he says. “Isn’t that what you said?”

“Look, I-”

“‘ _ It doesn’t work that way! _ ’” Jasper mocks, parroting Murphy’s exact words from the mountain. 

Shame fills him instantly, and his eyes focus on the crystalline water below them. He lets the waves rush by him, wondering what’s stopping him from just pitching himself over and disappearing into the depths forever. “I’m sorry,” he says, the words barely audible. He’s sorry for Maya, he’s sorry for everyone in the mountain, he’s sorry for his role in all of it. He doesn’t know what it’s like to not feel this guilt, not anymore. Maybe if someone better, someone more deserving, had gotten twisted with Death like he is, then maybe more lives could be saved. Maybe Polis wouldn’t have fallen. Maybe Arkadia wouldn’t have burned. 

Then again - maybe it’s for the best that he’s the one being sentenced to hell on earth. He’s the only one who deserves that, after all. 

Jasper’s head turns to look at him, that lopsided smile never falling. “Wow, lighten up,” he says. “I’m only kidding.” If Murphy didn’t know better, he might have actually believed him. 

“Right,” Murphy says, slowly. He doesn’t know what this interaction is, or how to handle it. 

Jasper only hums. “So if I were to push you over the edge right now and you drowned, you’d live?”

He blinks, stunned once more. “Uh - yeah.” 

There’s a silence, where Jasper looks him up and down, a light in his eyes that Murphy can’t quite identify. For a moment, he thinks that Jasper’s actually planning to do it, but then he just laughs. “That sucks, man.”

An odd lightness fills his chest, making him feel a way that he hasn’t in a long time, so much so that he can’t quite name it. “Yeah,” he says, feeling the beginnings of a laugh work its way up his throat. “Yeah, it does!”

Jasper laughs, and then he is, too, and even though the entire rest of the boat is staring at them, it only makes the situation that much more hilarious. “I mean,” Jasper says, through his gasps for breath, “the world is going to be on fire, and you’ll  _ live _ !”

The thought of hellfire has never been so funny. “Yeah,” Murphy cries, his chest burning from all the laughter. “I will! And you’ll be  _ dead _ !”

He’s overstepped, he thinks, but Jasper only laughs that much harder. Off in the corner of the boat, Bellamy’s smiling softly as he stares at them, but even this doesn’t seem to matter. 

It had been so long, that Murphy had forgotten what joy felt like. 

* * *

The rest of the journey hadn’t taken long. Emori had brought the boat next to a small pier coming off the island that was their destination. Raven had asked to be shown how to maneuver the boat, and Emori had happily obliged, the two of them working together in perfect harmony despite knowing each other for only a day. 

Despite how he started, Murphy’s almost sad to leave the boat, but it does feel nice to have solid ground underneath his feet once more. There’s a control aspect there, one he didn’t realize he needed until it was taken away. 

The island itself doesn’t seem too large, the beach quickly giving way to trees and a dense forest. “The lab is through the woods,” Emori says, already moving off the pier and up the beach. Murphy quickly follows, catching up until he’s walking at her side. 

“Hey,” he says, “why are you helping us?” It’s a question he’d wanted to ask her for the entirety of the boat ride, but he couldn’t bring himself to interrupt her and Raven. They’d both seemed so  _ happy. _

If Emori’s bothered by the question, she doesn’t show it. “I told you,” she says. “If there really is a second Praimfaya, I do not want to spend it alone.”

“Why are you alone?” That’s bold of him, maybe, but he’s starting to care less and less about how others perceive him. 

This time, she falters, but she does her best to cover it. “I was cast out of my clan for being a mutant,” she says. “I was with my brother, for a time. But a travelling Azgeda party killed him.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yes, well,” she says, sighing, “I survived because I hid. I have always been good at hiding, but that has not given me many friends.”

“Except for the woman in the lab?”

Emori’s quiet for a moment. “She is not a friend. She is...I do not know.”

There’s more there, more that she’s not telling him, but he chooses to let it drop, for now. “Well, thank you,” he says, “even if it turns out you’re leading us into a trap.”

“A trap?” she repeats, genuinely sounding amused at that. 

“Yeah,” he says. “I mean, you never know, right? We  _ did _ trust you pretty easily. Who knows where you’re taking us?”

She smiles, and he can’t help but smile back. “You never know,” she says, and then draws ahead of him, taking the lead once more. Murphy laughs to himself, but he lets her do it. She reminds him of Raven, in the best way. 

They walk in silence for the rest of the ways. Somewhere along the journey, Bellamy joins him at his side, though they don’t say anything to each other. They don’t need to. It’s nice.

The forest ends, revealing a large clearing with a building that’s only beat in size by the great tower of Polis. It’s made of some kind of thick, grey stone, with one large entrance in the front and a ceiling that seems to slope downwards the rest of the ways. Murphy doesn’t know much about architecture, but it looks to him like at least part of the building is under the ground. 

“What the hell?” Raven whispers in amazement, moving up to the front of the group. 

She and Emori move quickly to the door of the building, leaving the others no choice but to pick up the pace, too. There’s a keypad on the side of the door, to which Emori enters a code. Immediately afterwards, the light on the keypad turns green, and the building rumbles, the giant door sliding open. “Come on,” Emori says, entering without hesitation. 

Bellamy looks reluctant, but Raven’s already gone inside, and Murphy knows that if this  _ is _ a trap, they’ve already fully walked into it. On a whim, he takes Bellamy’s hand. A second passes, and he doesn’t try to pull away, so Murphy enters the doors, pulling him in after him. 

Once everyone’s inside, the door slides shut behind them, and they have no choice but to press onwards. 

* * *

Murphy’s no help to anyone in the lab, but he learns a lot, very quickly. 

The lab itself is very large, and very pristine. There are several levels and lots of machinery that is in alarmingly good condition, despite the years that had passed since most of it was used. The whole place is clean, sterile, and in Murphy’s opinion, very unfriendly. 

Raven’s able to get into the computers pretty quickly, digging up information as to what the lab is and who owns it. “This lab was made by someone named Becca Franco and her team,” Raven says. “I know that name. Why do I know that name?”

“Becca?” Lexa repeats, drawing forwards. At some point on the boat, she’d taken the braids out of her hair. The change is slight, but she seems more comfortable without them, and another reminder of what she’d lost. 

“Yeah,” Raven says. “Does that mean anything to you?”

“ _ Bekka Pramheda _ was the first Commander,” she says. “It is said she came down from the sky, after the first Praimfaya.”

Raven’s brows furrow, and she types some more commands, looking for more information. She reads something, and then her eyes widen in recognition and surprise. “She was a scientist,” she says, “one of the greatest of the twenty-first century. And...she’s the one who ended the world.”

Raven goes on to explain that Becca created some artificial intelligence that was designed to help mankind, but in reality ended the world to control overpopulation. “The A.I. is still in this database,” Raven realizes. “Emori, what does the woman who lives here look like?”

“She lives in the house a little ways away from here,” Emori says, “When I see her, she has a red dress on, and dark hair.”

Raven nods, entering another command. On the main, giant monitor, an image of a woman appears, matching Emori’s exact description. “That’s the A.I.,” Raven explains. “Sentient, sure, but the program that ended the world is still here, running in this lab.”

“Is that going to be a problem?” That’s Miller, always trying to identify potential threats and tuning out the science. 

“No,” Raven says. “I can delete the code. It’s a relief that this program never got out of this lab - an A.I. like that could do a crazy amount of damage.”

With that threat taken care of, Raven, Abby, and Jackson continue to go over the databases, looking for potential solutions. Emori stays close to help, clearly trying to learn all she can. She’d seemed slightly embarrassed to learn that the woman she’d been helping wasn’t a real person, even though she had no way of knowing that. 

Murphy’s drawn to a smaller monitor at the side of the room, containing the countdown to the radiation wave that Emori had mentioned before. It was silently pulsing red, demanding attention, steadily counting down every second they had left of life.  _ Praimfaya _ . That’s what Emori kept calling the death wave. He likes the name, he thinks. 

“World’s gonna end, huh?” Jasper’s suddenly at his side, still smiling fondly at the timer. It doesn’t seem as funny this time, somehow. 

“Yeah.”

“Huh,” he says. “That’s crazy.” He wanders off, then, in search of something more entertaining. Murphy can’t really blame him, even if he only partially understands him. 

The timer keeps on ticking down. Murphy keeps on staring. The more he thinks about it, the more he agrees. It  _ is _ kind of crazy. 

* * *

It takes Raven less than a day to find their solution, but they aren’t in the clear yet. 

They’ve all set up their supplies and worked out places to sleep by the time she calls them all back. As Murphy wanders back into the main rotunda of the lab, he sees Lexa has changed her clothes, too, as well as straightened out her hair. She looks like a completely different person. He doesn’t know whether she’s doing it to fit in more with them, or forget her past, but either explanation makes his heart heavy. 

“Nightblood,” Raven says, “that’s our solution.”

Abby goes on, explaining the science behind it and how Becca was the one to invent nightblood back in the day, but all Murphy really gets from the lecture is that nightblood is radiation proof, and if they can mimic Becca’s experiments, they should be able to make it work. 

“Sounds like a plan,” Bellamy says, always trying to keep moving forwards so he doesn’t have to think about what happened in the past. Murphy knows he’s still carrying the weight of Arkadia’s demise on his shoulders, even though he doesn’t have to. “Where do we start?”

“That’s just it,” Raven sighs, clearly uncomfortable. “We need samples of nightblood, for one. Bone marrow.”

It’s clear Lexa doesn’t fully understand what’s going on, but she nods. “Will mine be enough?”

“Yes,” Raven says, “but-”

“It will be more than enough,” Abby says, cutting her off. “Thank you, Lexa.”

“ _ But _ ,” Raven continues, “do we really want to become Mount Weather?” She’s right. It wasn’t too long ago that she was strapped down on that table, being drilled into. It wasn’t too long ago that Murphy pulled the lever, killing them all. 

Abby purses her lips. “We can sedate her,” she says. “It won’t be like the mountain.”

Raven’s not convinced, but with Lexa having given her consent, there’s not much she can do. “Okay,” she says, “even with that, we need to test it. We need to know it works, once we make it.”

Murphy knows exactly where this is going. He tunes out as Abby gestures to the radiation chamber, a sickening looking glass contraption that looks all too much like a cage. They can put radiation inside of that, apparently, and match the levels that they would face during Praimfaya. 

It’s just large enough to hold one human body. 

Abby’s already looking at him, and Raven’s avoiding his gaze, staring angrily at the ground. He sighs, swallowing heavily. “Yeah, yeah,” he says, drawing all the attention in the room. “I’ll do it, or whatever.”

Raven shakes her head, but Abby just smiles. “Thank you,” she says. “We need a baseline reading, too. It will help us greatly to know how regular red blood reacts to those radiation levels, so we can work preparing the nightblood based off of that.”

His heart rate picks up. “You - now? We’re doing this now?”

“No,” Bellamy says, stepping forwards in front of him protectively. Any other time, he’d be grateful, but today he only feels fear. “No way. We’re not doing this.”

“He’ll live,” Abby counters. “We know that for a fact.”

She’s not wrong. He hates it, but she’s not wrong. Bellamy looks like he wants to argue more, but Murphy places a hand on his shoulder to stop him, stepping back in front. “It’s fine,” he says. “Anything for science, right?”

Raven’s gaze looks heavy. “Are you  _ sure _ , Murphy?”

“Yeah,” he lies, and then his eyes find Emori, for just a moment. “Besides - when Praimfaya does happen, I don’t want to survive it alone. I need you around to annoy me, Reyes.”

She laughs, but it’s heavy and cut short. Still, he steps forwards, trying to ignore the way that Bellamy reaches out for him. Abby’s all too happy to open the chamber and help him into it, closing the glass cover with a soft click. 

He lets out a long breath, feeling his chest shake from the fear. There’s not enough oxygen in this chamber, and he can’t breathe, and he’s never, ever going to be free, and he should have ridden off into the sunset with Roscoe and he should have let Jasper push him over the edge and he should have stayed at the bottom of the ocean. 

Slowly, he turns his head, and there’s Bellamy, crouching next to the chamber. Murphy bits his lip, but he can’t keep the fear out of his eyes. He’ll be fine. It’ll be fine, no matter what happens, but his heart is still racing and there’s a tear in the corner of Bellamy’s eye. 

Gently, Bellamy places a hand on the glass, and Murphy does, too. He can’t feel him, but he still feels his warmth, and for just a moment, he can breathe easy again. 

And then, Abby turns the machine on. 

A faint  _ hum _ fills his ears as the chamber comes to life and radiation seeps into it. It reminds him of living on the Ark, and how there was always something humming no matter where he was. For the first time in a very, very long time, he wishes he was back there instead of in here. He wishes he was anywhere instead of in there. 

His skin burns. A tear slides out of his eye, and his hand falls from the glass with a thud. Before he loses grasp of his thoughts completely, he wonders how messy this is going to be, and he hopes that Bellamy doesn’t look. 

Then, there’s blood, and there’s an invisible fire, and there’s screaming, all of which might be his though he’s sure he’s still silent. A fiery red coats his vision. The last thing he sees is Death, hovering by the ceiling of the lab, looking down at him curiously. 

If he didn’t know any better, he would have sworn that Death’s laughing at him. 

He screams, then, for longer than he ever has, and then he doesn’t have a voice to scream with anymore. If he were alive, he’d see the red blood coating the machine, and he’d see Bellamy sink to his knees and cry, and he’d see that guilt crossed Abby’s face for only a second.

If he were alive, Murphy would understand why Death was laughing, and he’d probably join in, too. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so incredibly sorry this took so long! there's lots going on, as i'm sure you know. i encourage you to, if you haven't please check this site out (https://blacklivesmatters.carrd.co/) for ways that we can help the black lives matter protests going on in america & internationally. 
> 
> also very sorry to roscoe and galanthe fans. their influence persists, no matter where they are. big thanks to oog for her constant encouragement of this fic and helping me talk through stuff, and also, big thanks to charlie for their insights for the jasper & murphy dynamic. they (blueparacosm) just posted a murphy & jasper friendship fic that i got a lot of inspiration from to base their dynamic on in this chapter, so kudos to them!
> 
> thank you kindly for reading this. i am on twitter @reidsnora as always. i hope you and your loved ones are able to stay safe in this time, and happy pride month!


	12. the sacred knowledge of death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Then with the knowledge of death as walking one side of me,  
> And the thought of death close-walking the other side of me,  
> And I in the middle as with companions, and as holding the hands of companions,  
> I fled forth to the hiding receiving night that talks not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lots of death/gore etc in this one. i think that's implied, but i still want to preface that.

_ “You find this funny, don’t you?” _

_ Once, long ago, the between had felt like a comforting place. It had been nice, for a time, to take a moment with Death before being pushed back into the absolute chaos of his life. He’d found the bright white walls serene and friendly, and he’d liked wearing the soft sweater, even if he’d never admit it aloud. It was a break, and it was always one that he thought he deserved.  _

_ Now, though, it feels different. After the radiation boiled him alive from the inside out, his transition to the between was filled with shock more than anything else. It felt like he’d been thrown right in without a chance to find his footing, and he’d stumbled, clutching at his chest, still feeling the remnants of pain from what had been his most horrible death.  _

_ Death says nothing, and only continues to stare at Murphy as he desperately clutches the wall and tries to regain his breath. Their silence is indicative of their agreement. The lights all seem just a bit too bright, and his voice, though shaky, is just a bit too loud.  _

_ Murphy lets his gaze drop from the hooded figure. The image of Bellamy next to the chamber, crying as he watched Murphy die, is seared into the back of his mind. He can’t shake it, no matter how many times he tries to blink it away. Gently, he removes his hand from the white wall and it feels like he’s back in the chamber, his hand falling away from the glass, and the pain starts all over again. The tears in the corner of his eyes lament the loss of the only peaceful place he’s ever known.  _

_ “Whatever,” Murphy mutters, pushing aside the fear and sadness. He’s going back, and he’s going to be fine. Even now, all around him the between is beginning to fade. “Laugh all you want,” he adds, remembering how Death had looked at him right before he’d died.  _

_ “No,” Death says, but they, too, are fading. “I don’t find this funny at all.” _

_ The sincerity in their voice is so thick that as the between fades away and Murphy braces himself for his revival, he almost believes it.  _

* * *

The revival is always rough, but this time around it feels even worse. Murphy’s body comes to life with a rough spasm and a gasp, and he tries to push himself up to a sitting position before he’s taken in his surroundings. Something, or someone, blocks him and holds him down, but he’s already confused, bordering on delirious, and this only makes him feel more claustrophobic. With a great urgency to shake whatever feeling  _ this _ is, he rolls to the side until he’s flat on his stomach, hands pressed against the ground, shakily holding himself up. 

He blinks, quickly, trying to regain an ounce of control. The floor underneath his palms is cold, and this grounds him enough so that he’s able to see he’s still in the lab, his body laid neatly towards the side, a small pillow underneath where his head had been. Everyone in the building has stopped what they were doing to stare at him, even Harper, who had been cleaning red blood off of the radiation chamber. Despite being fresh off of performing what might as well be a miracle, Murphy looks at the mess he’s made and feels ashamed. 

“Hey,” someone says, softly, and now does he realize that he’s surrounded by his well-meaning but completely overbearing friends. Clarke, Monty, Miller and Jasper all stand somewhat close to him. Bellamy’s crouching down beside him, being the one who had spoken and the one who had tried and failed to steady him moments before. 

“Yeah, hi,” Murphy mutters, his voice cracking over the dryness of his throat. It’s always been hard coming back to life, but it’s never felt quite so terrifying and invasive. For the moment, he dismisses it as having been a result of the horrific way he died, but he knows he’ll be dwelling on this later. 

Bellamy offers a hand, a small smile on his face even though his eyes are full of pain. Murphy doesn’t have the words to ease this, not yet, but he takes what’s offered and slowly stands, trying to ignore the way Harper turns back to the red mess and picks up the pace cleaning it. 

Now that he’s standing, he sees Raven, Abby, Jackson and Emori are all on the upper level of the lab, working with equipment and muttering to each other about their findings. Raven notices him standing and pauses, staring down at him with genuine relief in her eyes despite knowing in advance what would happen. She nods firmly at him, and then goes back to what she was doing before, but a good amount of tension has noticeably left her shoulders. Emori stands close behind her, watching her every movement, occasionally glancing over at Murphy to try and figure out exactly what she’s just seen take place. 

Jackson, too, looks sympathetic, but Abby - she avoids his gaze entirely. He can’t say he’s surprised, but it does feel like he’s lost something else today, something he never knew he had or wanted. 

Across the lab, laying on a table, is Lexa. She’s asleep, most likely sedated after having given nightblood for experimentation. It’s good that she’s alright, he thinks, but still, he worries. Clarke seems to share that sentiment, as now that she knows he’s alright, she crosses the room and finds a seat next to Lexa, clutching her hand desperately, lines of worry etched into her face. 

There’s a flask of water being pressed into his hands, then, and Bellamy’s taking his shoulder and leading him away from everybody else, sitting him down in a chair in the corner of the room. “Drink,” he says, firmly, and though his hand shakes, Murphy does. 

The water is cold and feels nice. He begins to calm, but still, Bellamy’s eyes are knit in worry and he’s hovering around like he’s unsure of what to do. “It’s fine,” Murphy says. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah, I know,” Bellamy says, but he doesn’t relax.

He realizes, then, what’s going on, and for reasons he doesn’t want to think about, his heart drops. “You don’t have to take care of me like this. It’s not your responsibility.”

“I want to.”

This only enrages Murphy more. “I’m not Arkadia,” he snaps. “It’s not your job to save me.”

Bellamy stiffens, like he’s just been slapped, but somehow he doesn’t walk away. “It’s not about that,” he says, very quietly, and Murphy knows he’s made a mistake. “It’s never been about that.”

Their eyes meet, each of them holding back words, and suddenly Murphy feels like they’re back in the cart and it’s just the two of them, against the whole world, and Death isn’t in the equation and it’s as simple as Murphy and Bellamy, Bellamy and Murphy, together against the world. He longs for a world like that. He does. 

But then Abby descends the staircase, holding a syringe loaded with black liquid menacingly in her hands. “It’s time,” she says.

Dutifully, Murphy stands and holds out his arm. He feels no hesitation. He’s made his choice, and drawn his lot in this, and even though the thought of going back into the radiation chamber makes his knees go weak he’ll do it without a fight. Death can laugh all they want. He’s doing the right thing - he has to be. 

“No,” Bellamy says, trying to put his body in between them, but Murphy pushes him away. “He’s only just got back!”

“It’s fine,” Murphy snaps, and then he gestures for Abby to get on with it. 

For a doctor, she’s got some terrible bedside manner. She injects it without a word, without even trying to make the process painless for him. The needle stings as it breaks his skin, and the manufactured nightblood enters his system smoothly. Thankfully, he doesn’t feel it. 

There’s a second, just one, where he’s afraid. He looks up, tentatively, hoping to see some kind of sympathy or comfort in Abby’s eyes, but he’s met with only coldness as she finishes her jobs and removes the needle. “It takes a couple hours to work,” she says, and then without any more than that, she turns away from him and marches back up the stairs. Raven doesn’t look pleased with her, but she doesn’t argue with her, either, looking at the ground out of guilt instead. 

“This is so  _ fucked _ ,” Jasper whispers, somewhere behind him, and though he wouldn’t ever dare to say it, Murphy agrees. 

Still - it’s his job to put his life on the line, to take matters of life and death into his own hands. He did it at the mountain, he did it at Polis, he did it when he killed Jaha, and he’ll keep on doing it now, too. It’s simple. It’s easy, it’s straightforward, it’s a thoughtless process - but it really, really  _ hurts. _

It’s fine. Everything’s fine, even as two hours pass and he crawls back onto the table of the radiation chamber, pulling the glass down himself because everyone else seems too unwilling to do it. It smells fresh inside, despite having been filled with his blood hours earlier. At least Harper’s good at what she does, he thinks. 

Bellamy’s drawn back a little, this time, evidently more hurt by what Murphy said than he let on. He still feels bad about it, but he knows he also wasn’t wrong - was he? It doesn’t matter. The time for apologies has passed. Lexa, too, isn’t there, still out of it from having given so much blood herself. 

“It will work,” Raven’s saying, over and over again, convincing herself more than anyone. “It will work.”

“Yeah, it better work,” Jasper says. “I don’t want to see that again.” This earns him a smack on the shoulder from Monty, but it makes Murphy laugh. 

“Hit me with your worst,” he mutters, feeling oddly confident. There’s nightblood coursing through his veins, now. He’s better than the radiation. Even as the machine turns on with that awful  _ hum _ , he’s smiling, knowing that he’ll emerge victorious from this death trap. 

Then, in an awful sign of the times, his vision focuses on Death, hanging from the ceiling above, and Murphy may be synonymous with Death at this point but he’s only ever been able to  _ see _ them if - 

The nightblood doesn’t work. Even though it’s the exact same as last time, his death somehow feels worse the second time around. The only difference is instead of red blood coating the glass, it’s an inky black substance that surrounds him, sealing his corpse into a shadowy coffin of his own creation. 

Somewhere in the distance, somebody screams.

* * *

_ The between looks different, this time around.  _

_ Instead of a warm, comforting white light surrounding him, when Murphy blinks to clear the confusion from his eyes all he sees is grey. The room otherwise looks the same, and Death still sits on their pitch black throne, but it’s as if shadows have crept onto the walls and stayed there, filling the room with a horrific dullness. Hesitantly, he reaches up to grasp his sweater, only to find this time he’s wearing a plain grey shirt instead. For a moment, he misses the softness he never knew he needed.  _

_ Once the initial shock has passed, he realizes he’s on his hands and knees, looking up at Death towering above him. “What is this?” Murphy asks, voice low. It feels like the room is spinning around him.  _

_ “This is the between,” Death says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the universe.  _

_ “No,” he whispers, looking around the dismal room in horror, trying to blink it away and return to the peaceful reprieve he’d always found it to be. “No, it can’t be.” _

_ Death merely stares at him. “Does it matter?” they ask. There’s something else behind their words, some deeper meaning, but Murphy can’t grasp it, not yet.  _

_ “This is wrong,” he says. “It’s all wrong.” _

_ “Now you’re getting it.”  _

_ Death’s never been kind, but even this seems extreme for them. “No,” Murphy says, trying again. The newly grey walls of the between are already fading, before he’s even had a chance to get his bearings, and his heart begins to race. He’s not ready to go back. He can’t go back, not now, not yet, and not again. “No, it’s not meant to be like this.” _

_ “I don’t know where you’ve been,” Death says, their voice carrying strong even as they and their throne fade away, “but the between has always looked like this.” _

_ This revelation terrifies Murphy far more than anything else that day, but before he has a chance to contemplate it, the floor slips away from under him and he’s falling through it, hurtling back to life and awareness with a scream.  _

* * *

The chamber’s already been cleaned of his insides when he comes back to life this time. Either Harper’s gotten far too good at her job, or he’s been gone a lot longer this time. 

It’s odd - he doesn’t feel so disorientated as he comes back to life this time around. Instead, his eyes blink open, but he just lays still. It feels as if there’s a weight on his chest, and it’s hard to move around it, but other than that, everything is terribly, horribly still. 

He’s back on the floor of the lab, placed neatly in the corner with a soft pillow under his head. There’s nobody else around, except for Bellamy, who’s sitting in a chair a fair distance away compared to last time. “You’re back,” is all he says when he notices Murphy’s stare. 

“Seems that way,” Murphy agrees, sighing. Still, he makes no attempt to move or sit up. His eyes lazily find their way back to the ceiling, where the fluorescent lights threaten to blind him. 

“It’s been over a day.”

It’s never taken that long, or even, close to being that long. Still, Murphy doesn’t react. A deep melancholy is settling into his chest, coupled with a sense of resignation he’s never felt before. Even though his heart is beating and his lungs are taking in air, the walls around him look to be a horrible grey, and he isn’t convinced he ever left the between and Death behind. “Oh,” is all he says. 

“You scared me.”

This, though, makes Murphy turn his head. His bones ache, but he lifts himself onto his side and slowly sits up. Bellamy doesn’t move from his spot on the chair. “Okay,” Murphy says. “Sorry.”

Bellamy sighs, running a hand through his unruly hair. Only now does Murphy see how truly disheveled he looks and the bags under his eyes. “No, don’t apologize,” he mutters. 

Murphy sees then, as he scans the room, the rest of his so-called friends standing around, each of them staring at him, but trying to make it appear as if they aren’t. Nobody is speaking, not even Abby, Raven and Jackson who are still working dutifully in the lab space above them. “What do you want me to say, then?”

“I don’t know,” Bellamy sighs, and then he’s standing, and so is Murphy, because if there’s one thing he won’t allow, it’s been overpowered. 

“I already told you I’m not like Arkadia,” Murphy says, and he’s aware that this is wrong, and that everyone else is listening to them, but he doesn’t care enough about anything to restrain himself. “You don’t have to take care of me. You don’t have to worry about me. I don’t  _ want _ you to.”

Bellamy’s lips purse, like there’s so much he wants to say, but isn’t sure how to. “I’m not,” he says. 

“Yeah, sure.”

“Has it ever occurred to you,” Bellamy says, very slowly, his voice low, “that I want you to take care of  _ yourself _ for a change?”

And - no, no it hasn’t, but he’s not about to admit that. “Fuck off, Bellamy,” Murphy says, but he doesn’t mean it, he doesn’t even want to say the words, but it’s so much easier to be defensive and they’re slipping out of his mouth before he can stop them. 

Bellamy, to his credit, doesn’t get angry, or yell back, or leave right away. “Just think about it,” he says. “Okay? Just think about it.”

Hands in his pockets and head towards the ground, Bellamy slowly walks off, heading up the stairs to the upper section of the lab. Raven’s on her way down, holding a syringe in her hand like it’s a bomb that’s going to go off at any second. They pass each other on the staircase, and there’s a moment where they each pause, and Murphy’s sure that Bellamy’s going to knock the syringe right out of her hands and Raven’s going to let him, but they both just sigh and continue on their respective ways. 

“So soon?” Murphy says upon her approach. He tries not to, but his gaze keeps sliding back to the needle in her hand. 

Raven swallows nervously, displaying a lack of confidence he’s never seen from her. “This is wrong,” she whispers. “What we’re doing is wrong.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, “but - it always has been.”

This answer does nothing to calm her guilty fears, but she nods anyways. “We can wait a little longer - if you want.”

“It’s fine,” he says quickly, a little too quickly, and Raven notices this but she doesn’t say anything in objection. “Besides - it’ll work this time, right?”

“Yeah. It’ll work,” she agrees, but the words are as empty as he feels. Still, he holds out his arm and she slides the needle in, far more carefully than Abby had ever dared to. He wonders why it’s Raven down here, doing this instead of the doctor of the group. He wonders if Abby’s lost her nerve and doesn’t want to look him in the eye. It’s understandable - he can’t truly blame her. 

With a quick apology and a mournful look, Raven finishes her job and retreats, anxious to put distance in between the two of them. Murphy’s alone, now, standing awkwardly in the corner of the lab, watching as all the others avoid eye contact with him and refrain from saying anything at all. He’d cut the tension in the room, if he could, but he wouldn’t want to impose. Instead, he tries to catch just one of their gazes, and find comfort in a human connection for only a second - yet every time he thinks he’s succeeding, they lose their nerve and look away, as if they’re afraid to look directly at him. 

Now, more than ever, they’re all aware that they’re looking at a ghost. 

He’s ready to slink off in the shadows for the next two hours, when suddenly, the very last person he expected to come over approaches him. “Jasper,” he says, unsure of what else to say when he sees Jasper’s determined expression. 

Jasper, however, doesn’t say a word. Instead, he grabs Murphy by the arm and pulls him along with him, walking past the machines and out the door. Nobody tries to stop them. 

“Where are we going?” Murphy asks, watching Jasper with a mystified expression. Still, he doesn’t say anything in response, wordlessly keying in the code to open the large door outside, and then entering it again so it slides shut behind them. 

The outside air hits him harder than he’s expecting, and he takes a deep breath in, closing his eyes as the sun fills his skin with a soothing warmth. It’s somewhere close to evening, it seems, and though the island they’re on is desolate he thinks he can hear birds singing off in the distance. Next to him, Jasper hums, feeling something similar. “Come on,” he says, and then he’s off, and Murphy follows not out of necessity, but curiosity. 

They work their way through the forest that surrounds the laboratory, down a small dirt path that shows few signs of ever having been used before they found their way to it. Jasper walks like he doesn’t have a care in the world. As Murphy watches him, he thinks that that could be true, but he knows things are rarely that simple.

When they emerge from the trees, a large house with most of its lights still on stands in a clearing. The size of it is something completely foreign to Murphy. Jasper smiles lazily at it and when he sees Murphy’s dumbfounded expression, continuing his easygoing stride towards the door. “Nice, huh?” he says.  _ Nice _ doesn’t begin to cover it, but Murphy picks up the pace and follows Jasper towards the door and inside the mansion, more scared of being left behind than he is of the unknown. 

The glass door slides neatly shut behind them. An old song is playing from a set of speakers, the lyrics saying something about  _ werewolves of London _ , which doesn’t make much sense to Murphy, but he likes the beat and it makes him smile. They’re in a kitchen, he can tell, complete with a modern looking set of appliances and cupboards that are full of preserved food. “You’re probably hungry,” Jasper says, throwing open all the cupboard doors with a flourish as he walks through the room, mindlessly moving his hands in tune with the music. “I’m sure dying would make someone hungry.”

He’s not, and it doesn’t, but Murphy’s still too stunned by the company and the scenery to object. “Sure.”

“You’ll  _ love _ these.” There’s a box being tossed towards him, then, and Murphy barely manages to snatch it from the air. He opens it up slowly. Inside is some kind of cracker, this much he knows, but when he hesitantly takes a bite of one he’s met with more flavour inside than any other he’d ever had before on the Ark. 

“Oh,” he mutters in surprise, around another mouthful. Jasper notices this and laughs. 

“Told you,” he says. “Becca may have ended the world, but at least she had the decency to leave behind the good stuff.”

At this, Murphy has to laugh. “This is what passes for the good stuff now, huh?”

“You bet!” Jasper’s pulled his own box out of the cupboard and is shoving them in his mouth, two at a time. For a second, they just settle in each other’s company. Murphy feels the tension start to roll off his shoulders now that he’s out of the stifling laboratory and he doesn’t have to deal with the staring, the judgement, and the sympathy that always turns out to be faux in the end. 

A beat of silence passes, and then with a loud sigh, Jasper pitches the box over his shoulder. Still half full, crackers spill out across the floor and the box falls to the ground with a  _ thunk _ on the other side of the room. Murphy just stares, unsure of what to say. “What?” Jasper asks. “I don’t think Becca will mind.”

“No,” Murphy agrees, “I guess she won’t.”

“You know,” Jasper says, hopping up onto the counter and sitting with his legs draped over the edge, moving them in tune to the beat of the music, “all of this is Becca’s fault, if you think about it.”

“She ended the world, yeah.”

“She sure did,” Jasper agrees. He’s turning his chin towards the ceiling, closing his eyes and letting a smile rest on his face. 

Murphy’s quiet for a second. He’s not sure he wants to disturb this apparent peace that Jasper’s found in the moment, but it feels like he  _ should _ say something, and he’s not sure how he ended up taking the position of the sympathizer. “But without her,” he tries, “then none of us would have been born. We wouldn’t have met.”

Jasper cracks one eye open to stare at him. “Would that really have been a bad thing?”

To that, Murphy has no argument. He doesn’t necessarily disagree. He’s never, ever going to get a reprieve, and having someone else to blame for that does feel nice, for a change. “Maybe,” he agrees, softly. “Maybe not.”

Jasper just hums, and then he throws his arms in the air. “Fuck you, Becca!”

Murphy blinks in stunned silence. “You know she’s not here to hear you, right?”

“Doesn’t matter,” comes the reply. “It feels nice. You should give it a try.”

“No, I think I’m okay.”

“Oh, c’mon,” Jasper begs, “just once. Just one little  _ fuck you.  _ It’s not hard.”

Truly, Murphy doesn’t know how they got to this point. He doesn’t know how the kid he’d barely known back at the dropship camp turned into the person before him, but he does know that he had been kind, then, and he thinks that a piece of that kindness still remains, though it’s taken on a different form. Somewhere, deep down inside him, he knows that the last thing he wants to do is disappoint Jasper Jordan. “Fuck you.”

“Oh, please,” Jasper scoffs. “Give it some bravado! Some charisma!”

“Fuck you, Becca,” Murphy says again, but Jasper’s still not pleased, so he throws his arms in the air and then, at the top of his lungs, shouts it out. “ _ Fuck you, Becca! _ ”

Jasper howls like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever seen, and then Murphy joins in, and for a moment it feels like they’re back on the boat and Murphy isn’t responsible for having killed Jasper’s first love, and he doesn’t know what it feels like to be boiled alive over and over, and he knows what it’s like to experience true joy. 

Murphy, too, throws his box of crackers across the room. This causes them both to break out into even more laughter, both of them doubling over. Murphy’s chest hurts but it’s a good pain, a pain he’d like to feel again, sometime. 

It doesn’t take long for Jasper to hop off the counter and start throwing more things, and so does Murphy. The room’s a mess in seconds, but they keep going, yelling out the occasional  _ fuck you! _ and feeling all the better for it. Two hours slide by in what feels like the span of minutes, but then night falls outside and Bellamy’s standing at the door, evidently having been sent to come and gather him for his ultimatum. 

“You two have been busy,” he mutters, but Murphy isn’t bothered by his tone, not this time. 

“You should have been here.” It’s not meant maliciously - in fact, it’s anything but that. Murphy hopes that Bellamy understands that, and from the small smile on his face, he thinks that he does. 

“Maybe,” he agrees. “But two hours has gone by. Abby feels good about this one. Are you ready?”

It’s evident that Bellamy, too, feels haunted by his words, but Murphy just nods and allows him to lead him out of the house, though he casts one last look at Jasper who’s only sighing and staring forlornly as he goes, knowing he’s staring at a walking corpse. 

They walk back to the lab in silence, but before they reach the doors, Bellamy grabs Murphy’s arm and stops him from carrying on. “Wait,” he says, but then he doesn’t say any more. 

“What is it?” 

“Octavia found something,” he says, “a bunker. Lincoln had heard something about it, and they figured it out. She radioed us an hour ago. Miller and Jackson are going to go and help her, to try and figure it out, but Murphy - we could go, too.”

There’s a lot of information there, hitting him all at once, and he doesn’t know what to make of it. “A bunker?”

“Yeah,” Bellamy says, “underneath Polis. Octavia...she’s challenged Ontari, the Ice Nation Commander, to a duel. If she wins, then she gets control of the bunker and what happens with it, and if she…”

“If she loses,” Murphy finishes for him, “then Ontari gets it, and we can forget about that solution.”

Bellamy nods, quickly, clearly trying not to dwell on that possibility. “Nightblood isn’t working,” he says. “But a bunker? That’s foolproof. We’re alone right now. We could take the boat, and we could go.”

“And strand everybody else here?”

“They’ve made their choice,” he says. “They can live with that.”

It’s not that simple. It’s never that simple, but he’s enamoured with the fact that Bellamy thinks it is. “And what if Octavia loses?”

“She won’t.”

“Bellamy-”

“She  _ won’t.” _

He sighs, long and slow. It’s tempting. He hates how tempting it is, truly. The night sky is upon them. It wouldn’t be hard at all to take Bellamy’s hand and race off into the night, setting the boat free and carrying on their way to Polis, stealing their way into the bunker and riding out the death wave. It wouldn’t be hard at all. 

Bellamy’s eyes shine in the moonlight. It feels like they’re back on the cart, so close to one another. In this moment, everything feels very clear to Murphy, and everything slides into place very neatly. He leans forwards, rising onto his toes, and he draws Bellamy into a kiss, the moon above them their only witness. 

Murphy’s soul has always been on fire, but as they draw away, part of him feels truly at peace. “They made their choice,” he agrees, “and so have I.”

It would be so easy to run off into the night, but instead he turns away from the one person who makes him feel safe, and he walks into the laboratory, willingly submitting himself for torture. He doesn’t know why he does it. Bellamy handed him everything he ever wanted on a silver platter, and instead of finally being selfish and taking what he wants, he turned it away. 

Maybe that’s it. Maybe he doesn’t know how to be selfish. He deserves this, on some level, he knows. After everything he’s done, he does. Even without the mountain - Bellamy wouldn’t look at him the same way if he knew what he’d done to Jaha. He wouldn’t. It’s best, Murphy decides, to leave him in the dark, rather than face his disappointment. 

It’s best to leave those sorts of things to his fantasies. Isn’t it?

He’s missing something, here. He knows he is, even as he climbs back in the radiation chamber, the glass sliding shut above him. A great feeling of unrest settles in his chest as Abby turns it on for the third time, the ominous  _ hum _ settling around his ears. 

He’s missing something. This is wrong. This is - he’s not supposed to be here. 

For the first time in all his life, Murphy doesn’t want to die. 

When the radiation starts eating his skin away, instead of allowing himself to be swallowed up by it he  _ howls _ , at the top of his lungs, and he pounds at the glass above him until he no longer can. He kicks, and he thrashes, and he gives everything he can to convince them to open it up, to turn it off, to grant him just a piece of mercy. 

They don’t, though if he tries, he thinks he can hear Bellamy screaming back. 

_ I don’t want to die. _

It’s all he can think as black blood streams out of his eyes, his ears, his mouth and nose. He’s swimming in his own blood that’s boiling, both inside and out, and soon there’s nothing left of him at all.

_ I don’t want to die _ , but he does, anyway. 

* * *

_ He feels like he’s falling.  _

_ He’s thrown into the between with a lack of grace that both punches him in the chest and slices him open. For a moment, he sees nothing, but then shapes come into focus around him. He’s laying flat on his back, and though he tries to get up, Murphy can’t move a muscle. He feels weak. He feels like someone’s taken all the fight out of him and thrown it to the side, and now he’s left with only a broken husk of a body.  _

_ The walls around him are pitch black, matching the colour of Death’s throne exactly. Murphy can just turn his head, and he sees the throne, standing out amongst the shadows, but it’s empty. Death isn’t there. Even Death has abandoned him.  _

_ Murphy is afraid.  _

_ He closes his eyes, and tries to take a deep breath around the harsh beating of his heart. He swallows, roughly, and then counts downwards from five, four, three, two, one, and then he’ll open his eyes, then he’ll stand up and everything will be fine again -  _

_ Death’s leaning down over him, looming inches from his face. Where there was once only a shadowy abyss underneath their hood, Murphy can make out two fiery red eyes, burning straight through his soul.  _

_ He screams.  _

_ Death stands at that, pacing around Murphy’s body. Still, he cannot move, paralyzed both with exhaustion and fear. “What are you doing?” Death hisses. They are both yelling and whispering at the same time.  _

_ “I - I don’t-” _

_ “I didn’t give you this life for you to just throw it all away!” _

_ Murphy doesn’t know what that means, he doesn’t understand a word of it, but he can’t find the words to ask. “I’m sorry.” _

_ “Sorry?” Death’s mocking him, now, and this stings worse than any insult. “You’re sorry? Why don’t you do something about it, then?” _

_ “What?” _

_ Death pauses. “I am not here to give you all the answers,” they snap, “and the sooner you realize that, the better.” _

_ A tear slides out of the corner of his eye before he can stop it. “Why?” he asks, as though he’s a child being denied comfort.  _

_ This seems to get through to Death, but only for a second, and for reasons beyond his comprehension. “This is not supposed to be a nice place for you,” they say. “My kingdom is not yours. You aren’t meant to like it here.” _

_ “I’m trying. I’m trying my best.” _

_ “If that were true,” they say, “we wouldn’t be having this conversation with each other.” _

_ He’s not fading away. He should be fading away by now, but all he is is scared, and afraid, and he wants to curl up on himself and sleep for years but he can’t even do that. “I don’t want to die.” _

_ “I really wish that were true,” Death says. “But we all know you’re not quite there yet, are you?” _

_ Without warning, the floor below him vanishes, and Murphy falls, down, back towards life, screaming all the way. Death looms over him the entire time, and though they get smaller and smaller as they vanish into the distance, he’s still terrified.  _

* * *

Bellamy tells him he’s been gone three days, this time. “I thought that was it,” he whispers, hugging Murphy closely and digging his hands into his shirt, as if he’s scared to ever let him go again. “I thought - I didn’t know if you’d come back.”

“I always do,” Murphy mumbles, but his ears are ringing and he’s barely holding himself up. The image of Death’s burning red eyes is still fixed in his mind, and he can’t shake it. His heart’s still racing, pure terror still seeping through his blood, though he’s trying not to show it. 

“We were all worried,” Bellamy says. “We were so worried.”

He knows why the others were worried. Bellamy’s word, he can trust, he knows he can rely on that much to be true, but the others? He’s their ticket to freedom, to life, and that’s clearly all he’s ever going to be since they keep allowing him to be put in that machine, over and over. It doesn’t matter how much they stare at him with sadness in their eyes, or how much they pretend to object and debate the morality of their decision before ultimately not fighting it and letting him die for them, once more. If he’s gone, they’re all doomed, and they all know it. 

It’s not that he can blame them, not terribly, but he would have thought that more of them would fight for him. He’d thought he earned that much, but he guesses he was wrong. 

Lexa, he sees, is still on that table, seemingly her permanent position. Clarke doesn’t move from her side. “They’re hurting her too, aren’t they?” he realizes, whispering so only Bellamy can hear. He only ever wants Bellamy to hear. 

“Yes,” comes the response. “She’s always willing. She always lets them take what they want, but - they’re taking too much. If Raven weren’t here, I think they could have killed her by now.”

So it’s Raven, then, that he owes something to. Not even being her daughter’s girlfriend could earn Lexa standing in Abby’s eyes. “It’s never going to work,” he realizes, weakly. “This is never going to work.”

Bellamy’s silent. There’s nothing to say to that. Besides, Miller and Jackson have already left for Polis, taking the boat with them. They no longer have an escape off the island. If the nightblood doesn’t work, Bellamy’s dying in five months time, too. 

Somewhere, in the distance, Murphy thinks he can hear Death laughing at him once more. 

It doesn’t take long for Abby to come down the stairs, a new sample in her hands. “We’ve tested this as much as we can in a lab setting,” she says, “and it works. We’re confident with it.”

He holds out his arm. He lets her inject him with it. He’s pretty confident that if he were to refuse, he’d end up sedated on a table just like Lexa, the needle being pressed into his skin, anyways. 

He’d always had his suspicions before, but now he knows, truly, that he is a pawn to them. Murphy was foolish to consider them his friends, his people. Bellamy, Lexa, Raven, Clarke, Jasper - they are his people, and even some of them are on thin ice. The rest of them are fine to sit silently by, watching him die over and over again for their wellbeing. 

At least Jaha was honest about it. 

“Two hours,” Abby says, “and then we’ll go again.”

“No.”

Murphy thinks he’s spoken, for a second, but he knows he hasn’t. No - instead, Bellamy’s stepping forwards, a fire in his eyes that Murphy’s never seen before. “No,” he repeats, even firmer than before. 

Abby looks taken aback, as do the rest of the group - they’d all been listening to them before, but now they aren’t trying to hide it. From up above them, Raven moves to the railing and stares down at the exchange. He thinks she’s smiling. 

“What do you mean, ‘no?’” Abby asks, once she’s regained her composure. 

“This has gone on long enough,” Bellamy says. “We’ve done enough. Nightblood isn’t working. It’s time to move on to another option.”

“There  _ is _ no other option,” Abby insists. 

From above, Raven calls down, “The rocket is viable!”

Abby’s brows knit together. “No,” she says, “it isn’t. This is our solution.”

“I said no,” Bellamy says. “Raven, what were you saying about a rocket?”

“ _ No _ ,” Abby cuts in, before Raven has a chance to speak. “It took us a few tries, yes, but I’m confident that we have recreated nightblood just like Becca did. We’ll do the test, it will work, and then we’ll all have a solution that we  _ know _ is viable, and not based on a wild, untested theory.”

Bellamy rolls his shoulders back, standing tall, and Murphy can’t help but be in awe at the lengths he’s going for him. “You’re insistent?” he says. “You won’t settle for us not doing the test?”

“Yes.”

Without missing a beat, Bellamy draws his gun and fires off three shots in succession, each one hitting the radiation chamber with almost perfect marksmanship. The glass shatters, falling to pieces, and inside of it wires crackle as they short out.

Abby’s face pales. She drops the empty syringe in horror. “What have you  _ done _ ?”

“Now we can’t do the test,” Bellamy says, his voice flat, completely calm. “So  _ I _ think we should listen to Raven, and help her with her wild, untested theory.”

Up above them, Raven begins to smile, and Murphy can’t help it - he does, too. 

She descends the staircase, talking excitedly about a rocket and how they could potentially travel up to the remnants of the Ark, called the Ring, if they could get enough fuel. Abby stumbles away to the distance, though nobody offers her any help, which Murphy feels secretly grateful for. 

Raven, Monty, and Harper begin working, while Clarke unhooks Lexa from the I.V. that was keeping her sedated with a smile. “Thank you,” Murphy whispers to Bellamy. Now that the attention is off them, he realizes that he’s shaking. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t do it sooner,” Bellamy says, turning towards him and placing both hands on Murphy’s shoulders, doing his best to steady him. It works, for a moment, but then the strength leaves him and the relief hits him fast, and he drops to his knees, letting the weight he’s been keeping this whole time vanish. 

Before he knows it, he’s sobbing. 

“It’s okay,” Bellamy’s whispering, holding him close to his chest. Murphy keeps sobbing, holding tightly onto Bellamy’s jacket, letting his presence ground him. “It’s going to be okay,” he continues, and yeah - maybe it is. 

Murphy cries, and he lets everything he’s kept inside finally go free, and Bellamy is there, and he feels no panic or terror in his heart, and though he doesn’t look, he knows that Death is nowhere to be seen. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey! thanks so much for reading this update! i appreciate it. and to everyone who has left me such wonderful comments & kudos on this fic, wow...you have my heart. seriously. it means the WORLD i know i'm terrible at replying to them but know that i reread them often and they mean more than i can ever say. thank you for all the support for this story.
> 
> a special thanks goes out to oog (oogaboogu) for listening to my rambles about this story, & she's just posted a complete murphamy hunger games au on her ao3, and it is seriously one of the best things i have ever read and i deeply encourage you all to check it out if you haven't already. also a thanks goes out to charlie, as always, because i love you and you always answer my oddest of questions. so thank you. 
> 
> as always, i'm on twitter @reidsnora! thanks again for reading this. hope you & your loved ones are well!


	13. he too with death shall dwell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nor wake with wings in heaven,  
> Nor weep for pains in hell;  
> Though one were fair as roses,  
> His beauty clouds and closes;  
> And well though love reposes,  
> In the end it is not well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings in this chapter for suicidal idealizations, thoughts, & actions.

There’s a small bedroom in the laboratory, closed off behind glass walls up above the work stations and machinery below. They let Murphy have it, probably out of guilt and pity more than anything else, but he takes it, anyways. Only a week ago, he probably would have said no. He would have insisted that Lexa take it to recover, or Emori, because she’s the only reason they made it to the lab at all. He would have told everyone who asked that he was fine, and after all, he’s faced worse than having to sleep on a floor somewhere. 

But now, he knows. Maybe he’s not fine. Maybe - maybe he’s angry about that. 

He wasn’t angry after the village with Finn, or after the mountain, or after his three months with Jaha when it was clear nobody had been looking for him. Maybe it’s because he thought he deserved what happened to him, or because he thought he was doing the right thing each time, but he let it all go. But now, after they tortured him in that chamber, he can’t get the image of them avoiding eye contact with him out of his mind. 

Because - that isn’t quite right, either. He  _ was _ doing the right thing. He’s always done the right thing for them, but they punish him every time for it, anyways. It’s clear to him, more than ever before, that he’s but a mere pawn in their game, and they’re far from done playing it yet. 

So, he takes the bedroom, and he closes the door behind him as he goes. It doesn’t matter that they can see him through the glass walls. He  _ wants _ them to. Murphy wants them to see him, alone and angry, so they can think about what they’ve done to him and realize that for the first time, he’s above them, in more ways than one. 

There’s a singular dresser in the corner of the room, filled with some remnants of clothing from far before his time. Murphy digs through the drawers anyways, looking for something to occupy his time, when he finds it. 

Quickly, he brushes away the clothes and the dust, revealing the surface of a barely used notepad of paper. He looks a little further in the drawer, and can’t help the smile that crosses his face when he finds ten or so pencils, all sharp and in perfect condition. 

_ Fuck you, Becca,  _ he thinks, but this time, he doesn’t say it. Instead, he grabs the paper and pencils and hops onto the bed, drawing his knees into his chest to give him a surface. His grip on the pencil is so tight that the ends of his fingers grow ghostly pale, but he pays this no mind. 

If he closes his eyes, and tries to forget, it feels like he’s back in Polis, in the bedroom that Lexa gave him, without a care in the world. It feels like the life he’d fought to create and keep is being returned to him. It feels as though he’s once again at peace. 

Yet - it never takes long for him to remember. If he closes his eyes too long, he feels the radiation pulling and tearing at his skin, and he feels the gunshots ripping his chest to pieces. When he opens them, his gaze always falls back on the wreckage of the radiation chamber, and even though it’s been destroyed, it’s still stealing his breath away. 

His grip on the pencil is so tight that he’s worried it’ll snap, but he begins drawing anyways. He’s never been good, not even after spending so long doing it in Polis - his lines are tight, angry, and they lack precision, but none of this matters to him. 

Murphy is angry, so he draws, and as his thoughts are translated onto paper he breathes just a little bit easier. 

* * *

Months go by. 

Raven starts instructing the others to help her fix the rocket. After her recovery, even Lexa starts helping, and while he understands why she does so, he wishes she would advocate for herself. Still, the group at large is making progress, and though Praimfaya draws nearer, it seems as though the plan is viable. 

Murphy stays in the bedroom, all by himself. He pins his drawings to the walls and he sleeps during the day, wandering around the facility and the woods outside at night. For the most part, they leave him alone. 

There are a few days that go by where Bellamy leaves, taking a tiny makeshift boat he’d found in storage to make it over the water. “I’m going to where Arkadia was,” he tells Murphy, awkwardly standing in the doorway of the bedroom. 

Murphy doesn’t meet his gaze, instead focusing on his drawing with a furious concentration. “Okay.”

“Raven thinks there might be some fuel there,” he continues. “Hydrazine. It would make the rocket fly a lot easier, so - I’m going to check.”

“Okay.”

“There’s room in the boat for two, you know.”

Murphy’s pencil pauses on the paper, for just a second, but then he goes back to it.  _ Just ask me, _ he thinks.  _ Just ask me to go, and I might say yes.  _ Yet, he says nothing, and he only nods. 

Bellamy taps his fingers against the doorway. He hovers there, for just a second, and then he’s gone. Murphy stands, discarding his paper and pencil to the bed, but he doesn’t move forwards, and he doesn’t say anything. Even if he wants nothing more than to run out of the room and follow him, to yell his name and declare his love right then and there, he doesn’t move, and he stays silent. Murphy has never wanted to impose. 

So he stays in the bedroom, where he isn’t in anybody’s way, and even if he spends the night curled up in the sheets in tears at the thought of Bellamy never returning, at least he knows he’s not in anybody’s way. 

There’s a moment, sometime during that period where Bellamy’s not there, where Lexa comes into the bedroom and wraps her arms around him, doing her best to calm his shaking form. She understands him. She does. He does his best to calm down, to put her mind at ease, but still, he can’t bring himself to leave the bedroom the next day.

Still - he spends the day drawing a picture of her smiling, and he puts it on the wall, because it’s the only thanks he knows how to give. Murphy knows it’s not enough, but he hopes it’s better than nothing. 

At night, a drawing of Bellamy hovering in the doorway that he pinned to the wall only two days before sends him off to sleep. 

(Bellamy does return, eventually, though for reasons beyond his comprehension this does nothing to calm Murphy’s aching heart.)

* * *

It’s a week until Praimfaya. Already, the radiation outside the lab is enough to leave blisters on their skin if they stay outside for too long unprotected. Black blood still courses through Lexa’s and Murphy’s veins, but even they can feel the danger in the air. 

Murphy’s laying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. He wants to put some drawings up there, too, he thinks, so he can fall asleep staring at the images he loves most. He’s used up all his pins, though, and he’s almost out of paper at this point. 

He’s so caught up in his thoughts that he barely notices the bed sinking slightly as Bellamy comes in and lays down next to him. He doesn’t say anything, so Murphy doesn’t, either, going back to staring at the boring, empty spots on his ceiling. 

“Octavia won,” Bellamy finally says. This is enough to snap Murphy out of his trance, and he turns his head slightly so he can make eye contact. 

“She did?”

“Yeah. I just spoke to her on the radio.”

He nods, thinking this over. What was meant to be a duel between Octavia and Ontari of Azgeda for the bunker had turned into something called a  _ conclave. _ A member from each surviving clan had competed in a battle for the bunker, and if Octavia had won, that meant she had killed all of them. “So, you’re going to go to the bunker, then?”

Bellamy blinks, turning his head as well. He’s only inches away, but they’ve never felt so far apart. “Why would you think that?”

“Well - she’s your sister.”

“She is,” he says, softly, “and she’s got Lincoln to help her, and Miller and Jackson. There’s room in the bunker for twelve hundred people - she’s letting people from all the clans in, even Azgeda. They’re looking to her as a leader, and she is one.”

Still, he doesn’t understand. “If there’s room in the bunker,” he says, “why aren’t you all going there?”

“The rocket is almost done,” Bellamy replies, “and we don’t have the boat to take everyone over. The small boat isn’t in good enough condition to last nine trips back and forth, and we definitely don’t have the time or supplies to make the trip even if it  _ could _ .”

And there’s the answer he was looking for. “But if you could make it to the bunker,” he says, “you’d go, right?”

“No.”

“What happened to  _ your sister, your responsibility _ and all that?”

“Octavia’s my sister,” Bellamy says, his voice thick with an emotion that Murphy can’t name, “but - she’s not my responsibility. She’s done just fine without me, and she’ll keep doing just fine. I know that, now.”

Murphy nods. “Sure, but you’d still rather spend your time with her, wouldn’t you?”

Bellamy sighs harshly, then, and though he hasn’t meant to Murphy immediately feels bad for making him upset. “What will it take, Murphy?”

He swallows, thickly, moving his head away so he’s staring at the ceiling again. More than ever, he wishes he had some pictures decorating it. “What do you mean?” he asks, and he hates how weak and quiet his voice sounds. 

“Look at me.”

Murphy doesn’t move. “Sorry,” he mumbles, though he isn’t sure what for. 

He feels the mattress sink as Bellamy shifts next to him. “Please,” he says, very quietly, in such a way that Murphy can’t help but look. Bellamy has turned to be on his side, staring at Murphy with the widest, saddest, most genuine gaze he’s ever seen. Swallowing his emotions, Murphy turns, too, the blankets engulfing them both for a tranquil second as they simply lay in silence and be at peace in each other’s presence. 

“Murphy,” Bellamy whispers, “what will it take for you to understand that I care about you?”

Murphy’s breath hitches and his fingers curl into the sheets to ground himself. There’s a lot he could say. He could yell at Bellamy for lying. He could tell him to stop lying, or that he’d be better off in the bunker with his sister, or he could leave the room himself and leave both him and his drawings behind. He could walk off into the woods and hope the nightblood in his system makes the radiation a little easier to swallow. He could wrap their story up with a tight little bow and never, ever return to this place. 

But then Bellamy places his hand over top of Murphy’s shaking one, and he stills, and for the first time in a very, very long time, he lets his heart decide. “You do?” he whispers. 

“I do,” Bellamy says, and Murphy doesn’t know  _ how,  _ or  _ why, _ but he believes him. 

“Oh,” he says, before he can stop himself. “Well I - I do, too.”

Bellamy smiles, then, and it’s radiant. It warms Murphy’s heart and it erases the chill in his skin, and the more he stares at it, the more he’s sure that it’s the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen. “That’s good,” Bellamy says, after a beat. “I was starting to get worried, there.”

“Shut up,” Murphy says, and he  _ laughs,  _ a real, genuine laugh, that starts in the bottom of his chest and then spills outwards until he can’t contain the pure joy it brings. Bellamy laughs, too, and for just a second Praimfaya isn’t a week away, their friends are fine, and even if everything falls to pieces around them it can just be the two of them, moving together toward eternity. 

Once they’ve stilled, Bellamy sits up, and Murphy follows. “So, now that that’s cleared up,” Bellamy says, “are you ready to help us make it to the Ring?”

Murphy’s never thought of what it would be like to go to the Ring. Truthfully, he didn’t think he’d make it there - he was sure that their plan would fail, or that Praimfaya would come quicker than they thought, or that they’d simply forget about him and leave him behind. Not that he would blame them for that, of course. It wouldn’t be an out of character decision for them to make. 

Yet - the thought of spending five peaceful years with Bellamy at his side is something he’s never considered before. Maybe, just maybe, during that time he’d be able to find a way to start to heal, and that’s truly all he wants. “Yeah,” he says, “okay.”

Bellamy nods, and then gestures to the door with a smile. Murphy sighs, more reluctant than he’d like to admit to leave the safety of his room behind, but he stands and walks out the door anyways, not for himself, but for Bellamy’s sake. Slowly, he makes his way down the stairs and closer to the lab space where the rest of their group are all working, Bellamy close at his heels. 

Raven’s the first to notice his approach. She’s in the middle of building some kind of spacesuit, but when she sees him she pauses, a smile breaking out on her face. Once she’s acknowledged his entrance, the rest of the group stop and stare, too, each of them expressing a degree of guilt in their features, but all of them surprised to see him. 

“Murphy,” Raven says, her voice carrying across the entire lab. “Finally ready to help, huh?” She’s smiling as she says it, her eyes sparkling with relief and something else he can’t place.

“Yeah, got to make sure you don’t kill us all, Reyes,” he says, and she just laughs, sliding her welding helmet back on and getting back to work. 

Lexa’s at his side, then, squeezing his shoulder as she smiles at him. Her eyes are tired, and though she’s always been quiet she seems even more so, but she’s here, and she’s alive. He’s thankful, at least, for that. 

He watches them all, working together with teamwork and precision, and he thinks that maybe there’s a kind of community here. They’re far from being forgiven, he knows that, and so do they, but - a part of him doesn’t mind the thought of belonging to something like this. 

“Come on,” Bellamy says, “we’ve got work to do.”

Bellamy takes his hand, leading him across the lab, and Murphy gives in and lets him. 

* * *

_ He dreams of dying.  _

_ Murphy’s in the middle of the woods. He’s running, but he can’t remember from what. There are shadows in the trees and in the corners of his vision, and he knows that something is chasing him, but he doesn’t know what he’s done. Still, he runs, his heart racing, panting as it becomes harder and harder to breathe.  _

_ He turns a corner. There’s a pair of blood-red eyes in the abyss of the night, staring right at him. He screams.  _

_ Murphy stumbles back, but his feet catch on the roots and he falls back, down, down, down, until his back slams into something hard and all the breath is knocked out of his body. He blinks, spots in his vision. Desperately, he tries to move, but there’s a chain binding his feet together that rattles when he tries to stand, to run, to do anything but lay there quietly.  _

_ Still, he tries to roll off of whatever he’s landed on, but the moment he tries to, ice fills his veins and the nightblood inside his body begins to burn. He tries to move, to escape, but he blinks and then his hands are bound at the wrist and though he pulls and pulls on the bindings, they don’t budge. His body feels weak, but still he struggles, arching his back and tossing his head to the side, doing whatever he can to retain even an ounce of freedom.  _

_ The harder he fights, the deeper the bindings dig into his skin. Suddenly, without warning, there’s a rope against his chest, and then one around his knees, and one around his neck. He’s flat on his back, and he isn’t hanging from the trees, but his neck feels seconds away from snapping. Somewhere in the distance, someone starts to laugh.  _

_ Murphy stares up at a night sky that is void of all stars. “Who are you?” he yells. “Why are you doing this?” _

_ A branch breaks, and then another. Someone’s approaching. Murphy’s breath quickens, fear slicing through his skin. Without warning, Jaha emerges from the shadows, his eyes blood-red, shining through the night.  _

_ “The angel of death,” Jaha says, ominously.  _

_ “I’m not,” Murphy whispers, “I’m not.” _

_ Jaha tilts his head, narrowing his eyes. “You killed me,” he says. “You made your own choice.” _

_ Murphy tries to shake his head, and he tries to speak, but the breath is stolen from his chest and though he does his best to reply, he can’t make a sound. Jaha smiles wickedly at this, and then he’s closing the glass around Murphy’s body, and only now does he realize he’s been strapped down in the radiation chamber. Somewhere in the distance, shadows linger.  _

“Murphy!”

_ That’s - he knows that voice, he does, and with great effort he turns his head to the side, eyes scanning the forest floor. He screams silently when he sees him, sees Bellamy’s body, eyes open and empty and forever unseeing. Tears strike his eyes and he howls, though he makes no noise.  _

_ The chamber begins to hum. Radiation strikes at Murphy’s chest, ripping through his skin and bones. He can’t move, can’t free himself, can only lie helpless as the universe tears him to pieces once more -  _

“Murphy, please!”

_ He’s pinned, he can’t move, he can’t scream, he’s dying - but there’s someone close to him, approaching him, and -  _

“Murphy!”

His breath hitches in his throat as he blinks, the forest floor falling away as he wakes and comes back to awareness. He’s in the bedroom in the lab. Murphy knows he’d fallen asleep on the bed but somehow he’s gotten onto the floor, tangled up in the sheets, a mess of flailing limbs and fabric. 

It should feel cold. He should feel lonely. Yet - there’s Bellamy, arms around him, holding him against his chest. “I got you,” he whispers, over and over. “You’re safe, now.”

“I -  _ Bellamy- _ ”

Bellamy, though, quiets him. “It’s okay,” he says. “You’re okay.”

He doesn’t know how much time passes with the two of them staying like that. Slowly, he catches his breath and the tears subside, warmth filling his body once more. Still, he can’t shake the image of Jaha leaning over him and trapping him in the chamber out of his mind, and he thinks he knows why. As much as he doesn’t want to think about it, he knows that he has to. Right now he’s vulnerable, and the words are at the tip of his tongue, and he knows if he doesn’t say them now, he never, ever will. 

“Bellamy,” he whispers, his voice hoarse. He must have been screaming. “I have to tell you something.”

Bellamy doesn’t move, keeping him wrapped in his arms, rubbing careful circles against his back. “Okay,” he says, never questioning, never protesting. 

“Do you love me?”

Barely a second goes by. “Yes.”

With this answer in mind, he doesn’t want to ask the next question, but - it’s Bellamy, who doesn’t mind that he’s nothing but sweat and tears in this moment, who always gives his undying support no matter what. It’s Bellamy, so he knows the answer, but he has to ask to make sure, anyways. “Would you still love me,” he whispers, “if I did something bad?”

“We’ve all done bad things,” comes the reply, “so yes, I would.”

“But you don’t  _ know- _ ”

“I do,” he says. “Murph, you don’t have to tell me whatever it is that you did, but if you want to, then I’ll listen.”

Murphy sighs, shakily trying to let some tension out of his shoulders. “I killed Jaha,” he says, shutting his eyes to avoid looking at Bellamy’s disappointed face. 

Yet - no judgement comes. “Okay,” Bellamy says. 

“Just - okay?”

“He killed you, first.”

Murphy pulls away, abruptly, unsure of what to make of this. “I’m serious,” he says, staring Bellamy right in the eye. “I forced him onto his knees, and then I shot him in the head, and I left his body behind.”

Bellamy’s eyes are sad, but yet, he still holds no hostility in them. “I understand why you did that,” he says, “and I’m sorry that you had to.”

That’s all he says. He doesn’t try and justify it, doesn’t try to pretend that Murphy did the right thing, or that Jaha had it coming, or that it was a positive act in any sense. His heart slows back to a normal pace, breath comes easier, and despite the horrors in his dreams, he feels no fear. 

“I love you, too,” he says, and Bellamy smiles, and it is just as radiant as it always had been. 

* * *

It’s less than twelve hours until Praimfaya is set to hit when everything begins to go wrong. 

“I was so focused on getting the rocket to work and getting us a safe landing that I didn’t even  _ realize!”  _ Raven’s saying, pacing back and forth, typing various commands into various machines in the lab as she goes. “Stupid, stupid, stupid!”

“Slow down, and tell us what’s going on,” Bellamy says, but this does no good. 

“There is no oxygenator on the Ring,” Raven mutters. 

She gets distracted looking at something in one of the monitors, then, so Monty steps forwards to explain. “There’s no oxygenator in the parts of the Ark left behind in the Ring,” he says, “and if there’s no oxygenator, we won’t be able to breathe when we get up there, let alone survive.”

Still, Bellamy is undeterred. “Okay,” he says, “so, what can we do?”

“Nothing,” Monty says. “There’s nothing  _ to  _ do.”

As he often does, Jasper laughs. “So, we’re screwed,” he says, throwing his hands up in the air. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Maybe not,” Raven cuts in, still staring at one of the monitors. She pulls up an image, then - a map of the area that she zooms in to one particular point, unknown to any of them. “There!”

“What’s there?” Emori asks, stepping forwards so she can stand at Raven’s side. Their hands meet and join without the two of them even having to look at each other. 

“It’s a bunker,” Raven says, studying the map carefully. “It was built using tech from Becca’s company - and so was most of the Ark. It’s way too small for us all to survive in it, but - there should be an oxygenator in it. We get that, we’re good to go again!”

She and Emori smile at each other, and Murphy can’t help but do the same when he sees how happy they are. Still, after only seconds Raven’s expression grows serious once more, the timer counting down to Praimfaya reaching dangerously low numbers. “Right,” she says, “I’ll go get that, then.”

“No,” Monty cuts in, immediately. “I will. You’re the only one who can fly the rocket, so you have to stay. I know what to look for. I’ll be fast.”

Murphy looks around at what still has to be done, and knows he’ll be no good at doing any of it. “I’ll go, too,” he says. If doing this will ensure the survival of Bellamy and the rest of those he cares about, then he’ll do it without hesitation. 

Monty seems less than pleased, but he has no reason to say no, so he nods. Before long, they’re both wearing their radiation-proof suits, and Monty’s entering the code to open the door to the outside world. 

Someone approaches them from behind, and Murphy turns, expecting to see Bellamy, but instead Jasper makes an appearance. He’s wearing his suit, too. “What are you doing?” Murphy says, before he can stop himself. 

“Coming along for the trip,” Jasper replies, like it’s obvious. “What else would I be doing?”

“Jasper-” Monty starts, but then the door is already open and Jasper’s already walked past them both and into the woods. At that point, the two of them don’t have much of a choice - they follow him out. 

They make it about halfway to their destination in perfect silence. Murphy’s more concentrated on the looming red clouds in the distance, evidence that Praimfaya has already ravaged the landscape they once called home. It won’t take long, he realizes, for the water around the island to dry up and the woods to collapse. Maybe the lab will make it through, but the longer he stares at their impending doom, the less likely he thinks that will be. 

He’s so caught up in these thoughts that he doesn’t notice Monty coming closer to him until they’re walking side by side, several paces behind Jasper. “What did you say to him?” he hisses, keeping his voice low enough so that Jasper doesn’t hear. 

“What are you talking about?” Murphy asks. He doesn’t know Monty very well. He certainly doesn’t know him enough to understand what kind of accusation is being thrown his way. 

“What did you say to him to make him come out here with us?”

Still, he doesn’t understand. “I didn’t say anything.”

Monty huffs, clenching his fists. “I know that you two have your own  _ thing _ going on,” he says. “But Jasper - he shouldn’t be out here. So what did you say to make him think that he should be?”

Murphy just blinks, still taken aback. “Jasper and I have talked, yeah,” he says, slowly. 

Monty shakes his head, biting his lip. “Don’t think I don’t know that it was you two that wrecked the kitchen, back when we first got here. I’m sure there’s more you both have done that I haven’t seen.”

“What does that  _ matter? _ We’ve barely spoken in the last few months.”

“It  _ matters _ because you’re influencing him to make bad decisions, and he’s - he’s vulnerable, right now!”

Murphy truly doesn’t know what to make of this, or even what to say in response, but before he can think of anything, Jasper’s calling out to them. “Come on!” he’s saying. “I see it!” Monty fixes Murphy one last scrutinizing look before he picks up the pace and heads into the trees. With a small shake of the head, Murphy does, too. 

Jasper’s waiting for them in a small clearing in the trees. On the ground, there are some small panels, and further up from those is a large door that looks to be sealed shut. It leads somewhere underground, much like Becca’s lab. It’s no wonder that it was built by the same people. “So what now?” Jasper asks, beaming at them both, pleased by his find. 

Immediately, Monty begins scanning the outside of the bunker, dropping to his knees when he sees what he’s looking for. “It’s here,” he says, gesturing to a small device attached to the side of the bunker. “It looks intact. I - I think I can do this. Give me a second.”

Jasper merely hums, turning to gaze off into the red horizon. “Look at that,” he says, genuine awe in his voice. “What a sky.”

“Yeah,” Murphy agrees, trying to ignore the way Monty’s shoulders tense when he hears them talking. 

“You know,” Jasper says, slowly, “for all its faults - Earth is really beautiful.”

At that, Murphy can’t help but smile. “Yeah,” he agrees. “Yeah, it is.”

“It’s a shame you all will be stuck in space for so long,” Jasper continues. 

“‘You all?’” Murphy repeats, the smile dropping from his face when the implications of that set in. “Jasper, what-”

“I need help with this,” Monty snaps, cutting him off from asking. Nervously, Murphy glances at Jasper, who just shrugs in response. He wishes he had more than a couple seconds to find out what he truly meant by that, but with Praimfaya incoming, Murphy considers it a problem for the Ring and kneels down next to Monty. 

“What can I do?”

“I need to unhook this,” he says, “so you pull on it - carefully - and I’ll get the wires loose. Okay?”

Murphy nods, adjusting his position so he has a firm grasp of the machine on both sides. It’s far heavier than he’s expecting, and in his suit it’s hard to get a good grip on it, but he manages to lift it up and out, giving Monty as much room to work behind it as he can. 

They work in silence, Monty doing his best to free the machine from its connections. Murphy tries to keep a careful eye on Jasper, noticing how he’s slipping further and further into the trees away from them. It’s not his place to police his actions, but still, he can’t help but worry. “Hey, Jasper,” he calls out, “can you help us out here, and give us some extra light?” He notices the way Jasper’s eyes narrow in annoyance at being called over, but he does approach them and shine his flashlight on the machine. 

Monty grumbles, exhaling in frustration. “My gloves,” he says, “they’re too big - I can’t reach it!”

“I’ll pull it out more,” Murphy says, but Monty immediately stops him. 

“No,” he says, “you’d pull the wires out - hang on.” Then, without running it by them or stopping to think of the damage it could cause, Monty pulls his gloves off, exposing his bare hands to the radiation. In seconds, his skin starts turning red. 

“What are you  _ doing?”  _ Murphy cries, but Monty just grits his teeth and starts working at the wires, unhooking them from the bunker with a speed he’s never seen. Behind them, Jasper’s stumbled away slightly, but he’s staring at his friend in horror. 

“There!” Monty cries, falling away as the machine, too, comes loose. Murphy groans under the added weight, but he manages to pull it away slightly and set it on the ground without causing it any damage. He searches the ground desperately, and when he finally finds Monty’s gloves he darts over to him, quickly putting them back on for him. Already, Monty’s hands are covered in blisters and burns, and he screams when Murphy puts the gloves back on, but he can’t think about that or the implications of it - not right now. 

Monty’s dazed, and is barely holding himself upright. “Jasper, help me!” Murphy calls, gesturing to the machine that he knows he isn’t able to carry all by himself. 

Yet, Jasper doesn’t move. “No,” he mutters, staring at Monty. “No, this isn’t right. This isn’t right at all.”

“Jasper,” Murphy hisses, but his stomach is sinking and he knows that his fears are coming true. He knows exactly what’s going through Jasper’s head right now, and he knows exactly what he’d planned to do, and why he’d followed them out here in the first place. “I know you were going to leave, to run away into the woods. I know.”

“No,” Jasper says, but his voice is weak. “No, I-”

“Listen to me,” Murphy says. “I  _ know _ why you were going to do that, okay, I do. I really, really do. But I need your help. Monty needs your help. If you leave us, we aren’t going to make it out of here.”

Jasper blinks, a deep sadness behind his eyes. “No,” he says. “No, you’re supposed to be fine without me.”

“If you hadn’t been here,” Murphy begins, “back when I was going through the radiation chamber - if you hadn’t helped me then, I wouldn’t be here, not now. I owe you everything, Jasper. We all do.”

Jasper’s voice gets very, very quiet. “None of you were supposed to be hurt,” he says. “It was supposed to be easy.”

“I know,” Murphy says, “I know. And we can talk about that when we get to space, because I know that this doesn’t end here, but right now,  _ please _ , I am asking you for your help.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then a rushed nod as Jasper steps forwards and hauls Monty up, forcing him to his feet. He comes to Murphy’s side, then, grabbing the other side of the oxygenator and together, they lift it and begin carrying it out of the woods and back to the lab. 

Monty’s dazed, and clearly not thinking straight, but as he stumbles through the woods next to them he smiles. “I’m sorry for what I said, before. You’re not who I remember you being,” he says. 

“Who, me?” Murphy asks, humouring his conversation only so that he keeps awareness and keeps moving with them. 

“You’ve changed,” he continues. “You’re not the same person who tried to kill my best friend.”

“I did?” Murphy asks. 

“You did?” Jasper says, at the very same time. 

Murphy has to think about it for a second, but then he realizes that he didn’t, truly, but it looked like he was, way back when Jasper had gotten a spear to the chest and he’d been dying in the dropship. It had been the first time Murphy had seen Death in person, and that was all that he’d gone to investigate, but he knows how it must have looked from their point of view, and it’s not like he can explain what he was really doing without sounding more insane than they already think he is. Besides, he knows he’s brought Death on more than one occasion - maybe, somehow, he  _ is _ responsible for part of Jasper’s pain, then. “Yeah,” he mutters, “I guess I did.”

“It’s fine,” Jasper says, “I forgive you.”

“Thanks,” Murphy replies after a brief pause, and they leave it at that. 

After much struggle, they make it back to the clearing with the lab, only to find Bellamy, Raven, and Emori running out to meet them. “You made it!” Raven cheers, her brow knitting as she sees the condition Monty’s in. 

“He had to expose his hands,” Murphy explains, and she nods. Quickly, Emori comes over and offers Monty support, taking him back towards the lab. He looks over his shoulder once more, offering Murphy a smile and a look of understanding before he’s out of sight. 

“You got the machine,” Raven says. He and Jasper set it down gently, letting Raven look it over. “Perfect. You guys take this back, and I’ll get to the satellite.”

It’s Murphy’s turn to knit his brow. “What satellite? Where are you going?”

Raven hurriedly explains that in order to communicate with the Ark and dock the rocket, a communication device of sorts had to be attached to a satellite down here. Without doing that, the rocket wouldn’t be able to open the doors on the Ring, and they wouldn’t be able to get inside. “I’ll be fast,” Raven promises, already starting to move. 

Murphy glances over at Jasper, realizing what’s going through his mind. Here it is - his chance to be a martyr. This whole time, Jasper’s had no intention of going with them, and now he’s been presented with a valid reason that he can stay behind, and have his death be an honourable one, so as not to disappoint anyone. Bellamy’s right there, ready to take him back to the lab, and it would be so, so easy to just let Jasper speak up and give him what he wants - but he knows it’s wrong. He can’t do that to anyone, least of all to someone he’s always considered a friend. 

“I’ll do it,” Murphy says, trying not to fixate on the way Jasper’s eyes go wide. “You have to prepare the rocket. I’ll be fast.”

Raven hesitates, but then she nods, knowing that there’s no time to fight him on this. She runs through the instructions, and while he is listening, part of him is focused on the terrified expression on Bellamy’s face. “I got it,” he says, and she nods, leaning down and picking up the oxygenator. Jasper glares at Murphy, but then he helps Raven lift it, clearly unsure of what to do now that his escape has been foiled twice. 

Murphy hopes that one day, Jasper will forgive him for it. 

“Murphy,” Bellamy says, and he looks like he wants to say more, but he doesn’t know how to, or what words would do the situation any justice. 

There’s a moment, where Murphy hesitates. He doesn’t want to be the hero - he never has. He owes these people nothing, after everything they did to him, yet here he is, about to put his life on the line to save them all. 

But that’s not quite right. He may owe them nothing, but - he owes Bellamy everything. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t leave with you in the boat that one night,” he says, quickly. “I think it would have been nice.”

Bellamy smiles, softly and slowly. “I’m not,” he says. “Now - hurry. And Murphy?”

“Yeah?”

“Come back.”

“I will.”

And then they’re back in Arkadia, separated by only a fence, Murphy about to venture deep into the mountain and Bellamy set to stay behind, to try and keep the peace in a community doomed from the start. “No,” Bellamy says, and there are years passing between them, a past filled with chaos and a future filled with hope colliding in on each other. “Come back to  _ me.”  _

Murphy smiles. Their story may have been filled with pain up to this point, but throughout it all, there has been love - there has always been love. “I will,” he promises. “I always do. I always will.”

The sky above them is red, and if they weren’t both wearing their suits Murphy would draw Bellamy in for a kiss. For now, he settles for a nod and a smile as he spins on his heels and runs out of the clearing, back through the woods, and off to make it to the satellite and back before Praimfaya decides he’s doomed to stay in hell forever. 

The satellite’s not far, but he knows the clock is counting down the longer he stays, so he gets to work as fast as he can. Raven’s instructions fly through his mind and he follows them all, best he can, attaching the wires from the device she’d given him into the box at the base of the satellite. For a second, he thinks he’s got it, but then the screen on the device lights up with an ominous “ _ dish not aligned _ ” message flashing across it. 

The death wave is close, and he can both feel and hear it as he looks all the way up the satellite at the dish at the top, which is most definitely facing the wrong direction. 

Murphy doesn’t have a radio, but right now, he longs for nothing more than to give Bellamy just one more message. He knows exactly what he has to do as he stares at the dish, watching it shudder in the radiated wind. He’s not going to make it back to space. He knew that his luck would eventually run out, and it seems that today is the day that he’s going to be condemned to hell. 

“Fuck you, Becca,” Murphy whispers, and then he begins to climb the satellite anyways. 

The climb up is rough. Wind from the death wave keeps crashing into him, making his scale up to the top that much more difficult. He’s never been that much of a fan of heights, either, but he tries not to look down as he gets higher and higher above the ground. 

After far too long, he makes it to the top, doing his best to steady himself on the thin metal under his feet as he reaches out for the dish. His gloved fingers wrap around the edge of it, and he pushes, with all his might, doing his best to force it back into position. 

For a second, the screen turns green, but then the radiation gets to it, too, and it fizzles into static and dies. “No,” he mutters. He doesn’t know if it worked. He doesn’t know if he’s done enough, or if they’re going to make it there safely, or if there’s anything more he could have done to save their lives. 

He hears it before he sees it. Off in the distance, the rocket rises over the horizon, moving smoothly upwards on its journey away from this planet and into space. Despite what this means, he smiles as he sees it leave. At least they have a chance. At least they’ll survive for a little bit longer. 

At least he’s done all that he can do. 

Now, as he turns the other way, he sees the death wave approaching. It races over the landscape, tearing into the earth and ripping everything it passes into pieces. In an odd, horrifying way, it is kind of beautiful, and Murphy laughs as he sees it approach. 

Still - he knows what it feels like to die from radiation at that level, and he doesn’t want to feel it again. He looks down at the ground, judging the distance, and he’s confident that it’s far enough to do the trick. 

“I haven’t broken my promise,” he says, speaking up to the sky. “So - you have to come back for  _ me _ , too, Bellamy.”

With that, Murphy throws his arms to the side, and falls backwards off the satellite. He doesn’t remember feeling the impact of the ground, death stealing him away before the death wave could reach him. 

* * *

_ It’s different, now.  _

_ He’s not in the between, this time, but he knows now it’s because the between never existed at all. It was a concept he’d made up to calm himself, to find some solace in what was the most tumultuous of lives. Now, he better understands the fundamental truth that is Death, and he’s better prepared for it.  _

_ So now, he simply stands next to the shadowy figure. There is no room - they stand on the earth, close to the spot that he died. All around them, the landscape is completely ravaged by Praimfaya. If there were any living beings left, he knows they wouldn’t be able to see him nor Death, but he isn’t fazed by this knowledge in the slightest.  _

_ Death, too, stands unbothered. Their throne is gone, but Murphy knows this is because they’ve never needed a throne. Death’s kingdom is vast, but at the same time, it isn’t at all. Everything on the earth falls underneath their rule, but also - they are not a king. They simply  _ are.  _ It didn’t make sense before, but he understands now - at least, he thinks he does, and that’s good enough.  _

_ “Is it over?” Murphy asks, carefully.  _

_ Death’s silent for a moment. “That depends,” they say. “Do you want it to be over?” _

_ Murphy gazes around at the ruined landscape. He can’t imagine waking up in this, and having to survive for five years, all by himself, not knowing if any of his friends have made it out alive. Yet, as he thinks of all this, he already knows the answer. Five years is an awfully long time, but he’s faced far, far worse - and he’s got a promise to keep. “No,” he says, firmly, and he truly means it.  _

_ He doesn’t know how, but he can feel Death smiling. “Okay,” they say. “Then, it isn’t over.” _

_ Murphy nods, looking up at the sky above them. It’s still red, still filled with the aftereffects of Praimfaya, but this doesn’t bother him. He thinks there are worse things than having a beautiful landscape like this all to himself for the next five years.  _

_ “Come back to me, Bellamy,” he whispers. “I’m holding you to that.” _

_ Slowly, he feels himself return to life, and this time, Murphy is ready.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW thanks so much for reading this one! i know this chapter was kind of an odd one, with mayhaps some odd pacing, but i hoped you liked it anyways. i'm oddly fond of it, so i hope you are, too. also - i know i said this would be 17 chapters, but. it's looking like it might turn into 18 or 19....so we will see. 
> 
> the biggest, BIGGEST thank you to everyone who has left a comment...every time i see them in my inbox i shed a tear. i'm so pleased this story is being well received, really, it means so, so much to me that people like it like...i will never, ever be able to express my gratitude. i know every writer on here ever has said this but it means so, so much to have something be positive received after spending so much time on it, so. thank you. even though i'm the worst at replying to comments (i'm so sorry), all of your kind words mean so much to me, and know that i re-read comments very often because they mean so much. so. thank you. 
> 
> i'm on twitter at @reidsnora, as always, so come say hi if you like! thank you again <3


	14. death bow the head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Death -  
> Bow the head, close the eye -  
> Body of Loveliness goes by;  
> Bow the head, close the eye -  
> Beauty, unseen, could only die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hullo! some quick things:
> 
> -warning for some super brief suicidal thoughts/idealization (SUPER brief, but there all the same)  
> -i realize that in canon, there was technically snow before Praimfaya on Becca's island. i forgot all about this until i rewatched a scene today to refresh my memory, so. there is no snow in this fic. sorry about that my bad on that one

The sky above him is burning red. 

By the time he comes back to life and returns to his body, Praimfaya has long since passed, but its remnants are obvious. There is not a single cloud in the sky, and all the trees that had surrounded the island have been burned to a crisp. Murphy swears Becca’s island had been one of the greenest, most luscious areas of nature he’d ever seen, but now, all that’s left is burning patches of dirt and tree trunks that have long since lost their leaves. 

Above him, the satellite dish hangs precariously off the tower, dangling down and facing towards the charred earth. The words “ _dish not aligned”_ flash in his mind, and he can’t help but laugh. The sun, red around its edges, shines a fiery halo around it. 

Anxiety creeps into his mind and his stomach as he realizes that the dish is most definitely _not aligned._ He hopes his friends had enough time. He hopes that they made it. He hopes that, somehow, somewhere, they’re staring down at a burning planet from space, and they’re looking for him. 

Murphy looks up at the sky, smiles despite the harsh heat, and waves. 

It’s then, as he’s sitting on the ground, his arm up above him, that he realizes. He freezes mid-wave, narrowing his eyes as he stares at his skin and the distinct lack of scarring on it. The fall from the satellite tower killed him, yet, his body was still at mercy of the death wave - it’s why it took him a little while to come back to life, he thinks, but even so he should be covered in boils and scars from the torrid amounts of radiation that covered him. There are some, littered across his hand and arm, but they’re less red and raised than he thinks they should be, and the pain isn’t anywhere near what he would have predicted. 

He’s not getting worse - he’s getting better. 

A laugh escapes his chapped and dry lips before he can stop it. As the sound fills the air and spreads across the clearing, he realizes he doesn’t _need_ to. There is no one else around. There will never, ever be anyone else around for years on end. If he wants to laugh, he can laugh - so he does. 

It’s as he’s laughing so hard that his chest hurts that he realizes what this means - the nightblood _works._

Maybe he owes Abby an apology, one day, if he ever sees her again. Maybe he owes them all an apology. Their viable solution was underneath his skin the entire time he’d locked himself in that bedroom in the lab, watching them all do their best to fix a rocket that he can’t even say for sure works. Raven’s a genius, sure, but even she has her limitations. 

Murphy stands, slowly, letting life return back to his aching bones. If the nightblood works, that will make his time down here a lot easier, but in return he’s made life for everyone else a lot, lot harder by keeping this all to himself. 

He stops, closing his eyes and taking a breath, head held up towards the sky. “Not my fault,” he whispers, and while he hadn’t expected this to work, a sense of relief does settle on his shoulders. He goes over the events that had happened in the lab, and he thinks of everything he’d done and everything that had been done to him, and he knows, deep in his heart, that he’d done all he can. Now - it’s up to everyone else, for a change. All he has to do is survive. 

Murphy takes a step forward, and then another, and though his bones creak and the radiation pulls at his skin, he continues onwards. Above him, the dangling satellite feels more like a sword, but it does not fall. 

* * *

The keypad lock at the entrance to the lab is absolutely fried, but thankfully, someone had left the door open. Murphy walks through the entrance slowly, taking a careful note of the scorch marks burned into the walls. The now familiar heat hangs in the air, even as he delves deeper into the lab, evidence that the radiation has been here, too. 

Briefly, Murphy had thought that he might just stay at the lab, for all five years. The kitchens in the other building still had some supplies, and it had shelter, and a bed, and a familiar surrounding that he already knew. As he walks inside and his eyes are met with the remnants of the facility, however, he realizes that this cannot be the case. 

The lab is in ruins. Before, machines had lined every inch of the wall, all their screens lit up and revealing information that he’d never been able to figure out. Now, all their screens are dark, and the _hum_ that had once filled the air has been silenced. Sparks shoot out of some wires, and as he looks down the rows, he sees over half of the displays are completely cracked or gone altogether. 

For just a second too long, his eyes fall on where the radiation chamber had once been. Though Bellamy had already done sufficient work to wreck it, Praimfaya had gone one step further and melted the broken pieces together, causing the glass shield to curve inwards on itself in a rather ominous way. Without being hooked into anything, it had flipped completely on its side. Murphy thinks it deserves to stay there. 

The work that Raven and everyone else had spent so much time on had been completely destroyed. There are tools and wires coating every inch of the floor. Praimfaya’s wind had tossed them around haphazardly, burning some of them to a crisp, and twisting the metal of others to make them unrecognizable. There’s a piece of him that wants to spend the time and clean this up, just so that when Raven returns she could at least use some of it again, but he knows there’s no point. No one in their right mind would want to stay here. He knows he can’t stay here. 

First things first - he has to get out of this suit. He’d taken the helmet off, back in the clearing with the satellite tower, but he’s still wearing the rest of it. After having gone through Praimfaya, it’s sticking to his skin and tearing at it as he moves. It’s going to hurt to take it off, but he knows that he has to. 

He finds a gift in the corner, in the form of a large bag filled with supplies, including clothing. It was tucked away behind one of the machines, which most likely saved it from the worst of the death wave’s effects, though having been hidden like this is probably the reason whoever packed it left it behind. “Thank you,” Murphy whispers, to whoever did so. 

Murphy pauses, takes a breath, and then in as much of a fluid motion as he can, he unzips the suit and then tears it right off his body. The pain fills his head, turning his vision red and he screams, but he does not stop. It’s one blessing of having lived the life he’s lived, he supposes - he’s never learned how to stop. 

Once the worst of it is done, he puts on a simple shirt and pants that are remarkably close enough to his size. The boots he was wearing before are still in good enough condition. His fingers ache, so it takes him a lot longer than it should, but he manages to lace them back up. After a pause, Murphy also puts on a large sweeping grey coat that’s close to a duster, for no reason other than he likes it, and there’s nobody here to tell him that he’s being silly. 

There’s ample room left in the bag for him to keep the supplies already in it and fill it with whatever he finds. Though he’s in exponentially worse condition than he was when he entered the lab, Murphy stands anyways, casting a careful eye over the wreckage of the lab. It’s even clearer to him now. He really, really can’t stay here. 

Still - there’s one last thing he has to check. Murphy turns, gazing upwards. It’s then that he sees the most ominous of the damage. The staircase leading up to the higher level of the lab is hanging haphazardly. The top of it has almost completely come loose and it’s buckling down onto its side, threatening to snap free at any second. Hesitantly, Murphy puts a foot on the first step, feeling the way the metal threatens to curve under his weight. There are countless steps to go, but the minor change in the weight causes the top of the staircase to shake, just slightly. 

Now that he thinks about it, the reason he’s so set on making it up there is silly. He’s already been able to find a bag to hold his supplies in, and everything else that he might need is in the kitchens, or scattered amidst the carnage of the lower floor. For all he knows, too, the upper floors of the lab are completely ruined. There could be nothing up there at all, let alone anything he might actually use. 

But - this isn’t quite true. With a shake of the head, Murphy resolves to stop thinking so much about things that he already knows not to be the case. It’s fine. He’s got five years to fix _that_ problem. 

Murphy takes another step, noticing the way the staircase shakes again as he climbs. The upper left bolt has come loose, he realizes. It’s hard to get a good look at how strongly the upper right section of the staircase is still connected, but based on the way the staircase itself is hanging and swinging, it won’t take much to break it off. If that happens, he won’t have any way of getting up there, so he knows he has to do this carefully. 

Murphy takes another step. The staircase buckles, groaning under his weight. “Screw it,” he mutters, and then, as fast as he can, he runs up the stairs without another thought. 

He makes it almost all the way up, his feet bouncing off each step, before the upper right corner of the staircase decides it’s had enough of him and breaks off. Murphy stumbles, just slightly, but then with a yell he pitches himself forwards, hands grasping at the floor of the upper level just as the staircase crashes down to the floor below. 

Murphy hangs there, for just a second, but this time there is no rope around his neck and his agency is all his own. Though his muscles strain and ache and the radiation keeps pushing him down, he throws a leg up and over onto the floor, pushing the rest of his body onto the surface. He rolls over onto his back with jagged breaths, closing his eyes and lying still under he feels like he can breathe again. 

He’ll worry about getting down later. 

After minutes or hours pass, he slowly gets to his feet and wanders over to his destination. Much like the lower floor, the upper floor has been ravaged by Praimfaya - the equipment up here is all broken, the tables thrown onto their side, various tools and pieces of things strewn across the floor. Yet, Murphy pays this no mind. It isn’t why he risked coming up here. 

The glass windows of the bedroom have all been blown out, leaving it completely exposed. Murphy kicks the loose shards away, and then he walks through one of the now-empty frames, fear crawling through his heart at the thought of what he might find. 

Surprisingly, the bedroom is somewhat intact. The bed still stands in the corner, and the dresser still sits on the wall opposite. Heat from the radiation still hangs heavy in the air, and the damage it’s causing on the furniture is noticeable via scorch marks on the wood and tears in the threads, but for the most part, it’s exactly how he left it. 

He moves quickly, even though the only sense of urgency comes from his own mind. After his daring moves with the staircase, his muscles are screaming at him to take a break, but he grabs hold of the end of the dresser and pulls it back, grimacing when the wood scrapes against the floor. Glass shards _crunch_ into smaller pieces underneath his feet, but he pays this no mind, continuing to pull the dresser until he’s exposed the entire wall. 

Right where he left them, bundled up together, are all his drawings. 

A big, slow smile spreads across his face as he crouches down and gently picks them up. He’d stashed them here, a few days before Praimfaya. They were short on room in the rocket already, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to bring them up to the Ring with him, so he’d tucked them behind the dresser in hopes that it would protect them from Praimfaya. It seems his plan has worked. Though the dresser itself is hot to the touch and burned at the sides, the paper seems untouched. 

At the top of the pile is his drawn image of Bellamy, a perfect snapshot of him hovering in the doorway just before he’d gone across water to find fuel for the rocket. Murphy blinks, looking at the image, then glances back at the empty space where the door once was, and for a second, it’s like Bellamy is standing right there, tapping his fingers against the frame, asking Murphy to come with him without ever saying the words. 

It doesn’t make any difference now, but if he were there, and if he were to ask, Murphy knows he’d say yes. 

He sighs, then drops his gaze, bundling the pictures back together and standing, casting a careful eye over the room for the final time. For months, this had been his home, and it should break his heart to have to leave yet another one of those behind. Yet, with the pictures in his hands, he knows he’s not actually leaving anything behind, not this time. 

Murphy turns, and then walks out of the room, glass _crunching_ underneath his boots. _It’s fine,_ he tells himself. _It’s all going to work out in the end_ \- and if a single drop of water falls onto the drawing of Bellamy, then that’s nobody’s business but his own. 

When Murphy reaches the space where the staircase had once been, he stops, considering the distance of the drop in front of him. It’s definitely not as far as the satellite tower, not by a long shot, and if he were to throw himself off of it he doesn’t think it would kill him. Gently, he gets on his knees and then lightly tosses the drawings down, letting them land safely so he doesn’t accidentally rip them. 

Now that that’s dealt with, and he got what he came for, he considers finding a knife to stab himself with, so that his body will roll off the ledge as it dies and when he wakes up, he’ll be back on the lower level. It seems so easy that he’s almost about to stand back up and give it his best shot, when a shadow flickers into view in the distance and he sighs. _It isn’t over,_ Death had said to him, and he knows what that means. He isn’t meant to die, not when it could be avoided. His life, though eternal, is meant to be protected. 

The sentiment there makes him roll his eyes a little bit, but - he _did_ make a promise. 

So, Murphy works his way down the drop, hanging off over the ledge and then dropping with care, rolling to the side as soon as his body hits the ground. It’s a far enough drop that his feet curse at him and the breath is knocked from his lungs, but he doesn’t think he’s broken anything, and within minutes, he’s able to stand and collect his drawings, stashing them neatly into his bag. 

“Huh,” he says, dusting off his clothes and pulling the duster tighter around his shoulders. It seems like he should have realized this a long time ago, but maybe some problems _can_ be solved without him having to die. 

Murphy pauses, turning to look over the lab just one more time. Really, he wasn’t here for all that long, but it feels like it’s been years. He should hate it here. Some of the worst pain he’s ever felt in his life happened here. Yet, even as he thinks through the torture, betrayal and isolation, he knows that there was some good here, too. There’s always been some good. He regrets that it took him so long to be able to find it. 

He has absolutely no destination in mind, but Murphy slings his bag over his shoulder, takes a deep breath, and leaves the lab behind him. 

* * *

It turns out Bellamy had one last gift left to give him, however unintentional. 

All the water surrounding Becca’s island had dried up during Praimfaya, leaving a giant desert that Murphy had crossed. It was easier to deal with the dry sand than having to swim all the way, but it still took him a decent amount of time to make it to where the other coastline used to be. 

He’s somewhere close to there when he sees it. Poking up out of a sand dune, he can see something large and metallic. At first, he’s going to let it go, but then it strikes an odd sense of familiarity in him and he pauses and approaches, brushing the sand to the side the best he can. 

It doesn’t take long for him to realize he’s uncovering the rover. 

Bellamy’s to thank for it being here - he must be. Murphy never asked, but it makes sense that he’d have found the rover back when he went to Arkadia, and then used it to drive back to the lake and carry whatever fuel and supplies he’d found. It makes perfect sense that it’s here, but Murphy wasn’t expecting to find it all the same. 

Before long, he’s uncovered the rover and he hops inside, closing the door behind him. Instantly, his eyes land on a radio, attached to the rover and in perfect condition. Gently, Murphy picks it up, cradling it as if it’ll break if he holds it wrong. There’s no way this will work, but he knows he has to try, and he turns the radio on and whispers, “Bellamy?” into it. 

He’s met with only silence and the crackle of static that he knew was coming. “I don’t know if you can hear this,” he continues, tentatively, “but - if you can - I’m okay. I’ll be fine. So don’t worry about me, okay?”

Murphy sits in silence for just a moment, hoping against all logic that Bellamy’s voice will greet him, but he gets nothing in response. With care, he sets the radio back down in its place, knowing deep down that this won’t be the last time he tries. 

Still, there’s one last test to perform. “Come on,” he mutters, turning on the ignition. There’s a pause before anything happens and Murphy’s heart starts to sink, but then the rover rumbles to life underneath him. 

He cheers, loudly, the sound filling the entire vehicle. Only now, with his hands on the wheel, his feet on the pedals and the engine roaring to life, does he remember - he has no idea how to drive. “Can’t be hard,” he says, to nobody in particular but the rover itself. Bellamy drove this thing all the time around Arkadia. Surely, he can figure it out, too. 

With a great deal of force, Murphy slams his foot down on the acceleration, feeling the way the rover roars to life and rushes forward, sliding over the uneven terrain with a surprising amount of grace and precision. Murphy’s eyes go wide, adrenaline coursing through his body as his grip on the steering wheel tightens and a certain sparkle lands in his eye. 

Then, of course, a giant rock gets in the way and Murphy breaks so hard he nearly concusses himself on the wheel, but - he can’t shake the euphoria he’d gotten from being in control, and moving fast, and tearing over the earth like _he_ was in control for once. Though, he supposes there’s something to be said for restraint, once in a while, and from that point out he goes a lot slower, breaking hard far more often. 

After a while, he’s able to lose some of the tension in his shoulders and he drives forwards at a reasonable pace. He still has no destination or end goal, but when he catches his reflection in the rear view mirror, he’s smiling. 

* * *

Thirty nine days later, Murphy finds the valley. 

He’d spent the time driving around various areas, doing his best to find anything at all that would be useful. Most of the landscape was completely ravaged. If he hadn’t found and taken lots of water from the kitchens in the lab, he would have died from dehydration several times along the way. Still, he’d kept moving forwards, doing his best to stay optimistic - and then he’d seen it. 

Far in the distance, there had been a patch of green. It stood out against the dry, red ground that he was so used to seeing, and it caught his eye instantly. For a long time, even though it had been getting closer as Murphy drove towards it, he was sure he was imagining it. “Finally lost it,” he’d said to himself, convinced that he was going well and truly insane. 

Except - as he got closer, the green had gotten bigger, and bigger, until he was right next to it and it was all around him. The ground beneath the rover had started to dip, and he’d been forced to drive very slowly or else he’d lose control. Eventually, he’d parked it at the top of a hill, and he’d gotten out and simply stared in awe at the valley below. 

The entire thing is _green._

He’s standing on one end of the valley, and though it’s small and he can see the other side from here, the land is far enough below that it seems to him as though Praimfaya must have skipped over it. There are trees growing tall and the grass is green, and if he focuses his hearing enough, he thinks he can hear birds singing their songs, as if nothing had ever happened. 

His entire journey, he’d had no destination in mind, but he thinks that really, this is what he was meant to find. 

Murphy skids down the hill as fast as he can, stumbling forwards just slightly as the ground beneath his feet grows soft, and then changes to dirt and grass. A small rabbit bounds by his feet and darts off into the bushes, and overhead, a bird circles the area. For a moment, he thinks he might find people here, but he knows that he won’t. Though the air is much cleaner down here than it was in the desert, he can still feel the remnants of radiation in the air, and if he were not a nightblood, it would still be enough to kill him. Any of the animals that survived must have had some form of cover when the death wave passed over them. 

Murphy staggers forward a few more steps, but then the relief and euphoria hit him and he sinks to his knees and then lays flat on his back, feeling the way his body sinks into the dirt and the grass curls against his skin. He laughs, loudly, closing his eyes and enjoying the fresh, clean air. Now it seems as though the sun is filling him with genuine warmth, rather than try to burn him alive. 

He takes off his boots, letting dirt between his toes, and he digs into it with his hands, too. His chin tilts towards the sky and he lazily opens his eyes, gaze falling on a single cloud gracing the sky with its presence. The valley is still and serene. He truly can’t ask for anything more. 

Then - he hears it. Off in the distance, but quickly getting closer, he hears something moving across the ground. Within seconds, he’s sitting up, trying to pinpoint the sound. Hastily he throws his boots back onto his feet, cursing himself for losing awareness even just for a second. 

And then Roscoe gallops out of the trees, and Murphy sobs. 

“Oh,” he whispers, slowly rising to his feet. The horse stops and stares at him, though he continues to walk over, slowly. It feels almost as if he recognizes him, though Murphy isn’t sure he should dare hope for that. 

He, too, approaches, reaching out an arm. When he’s right in front of him, and he doesn’t run away, he gently places his hand on Roscoe’s mane. As he stands there, and Roscoe doesn’t move away, he can’t resist any longer - he throws his other arm around Roscoe and he hugs the horse the best he can, burying his face into his side and doing his best to ignore his own tears. “I missed you,” he whispers, and now that they’ve been reunited, he knows it’s true. He _did_ miss him. 

After a long while, Murphy breaks away. Still, Roscoe makes no attempt to leave, or run, and even though this is probably meaningless, it warms Murphy’s heart. He stands for a moment, and then nods and backs away, wiping the tears away with the back of his hand. “Right,” he says, “time for me to make this place home, huh?”

He grabs his bag, slings it back across his shoulder, and then walks through the trees. Though he hasn’t asked him to, Roscoe follows. 

* * *

There was a village here, once. 

During his time in Polis with Lexa, on top of learning Trigedasleng, Murphy had learned more about the clans than he’d ever hoped to. It doesn’t take him too long to figure out he’s in the former home of the Louwoda Kliron Kru, in a place called Shallow Valley. As he gets closer to the center of the valley, he starts passing old homes from the village, adorned with colourful cloth that all bore the sigil of the clan. 

He finds their bodies, too, but he’d rather not dwell on that. 

Almost all of their homes are intact, so Murphy enters one at random. It’s been a long day and the sun is starting to set, telling him he should find somewhere to call it a night. Thankfully, the home he enters doesn’t have any bodies, but it is full of evidence that people lived here, once. 

He ends up distracting himself looking through the items on the shelves, spending an especially large amount of time leafing through a pile of books that had been sitting at the corner of a table. One, at the very bottom of the stack, looks very old and is written in what seems to be English, though the title makes no sense to him. Though they appear to be letters he’s familiar with, he isn’t sure of what word is being spelled out - still, it’s got his curiosity. Before he knows it, he’s wandered back outside to the front of the house, leaning against the wooden walls, breathing in the fresh air. 

Murphy opens it up to a random page, eyeing the ink that is obviously centuries old. The wind whistles through his hair as he slowly works his eyes over the page, the bounded leather soft against the rough skin of his hands. It’s written in an odd way, like a conversation between two characters yet without any of the description in between. 

_I’ll take care of you,_ the letters come together to say. 

_It’s rotten work,_ comes the response. 

He pauses to think this through, then, he draws his finger down the page and continues to read. _Not to me,_ the first character says. _Not if it’s you._

Murphy smiles, then laughs, gently closing the cover. For a moment, it’s just himself and the wind, in peace together as he thinks of the meaning in what he just read. “Not if it’s you,” he repeats, aloud, and though he’s thinking of someone completely other than the original author was, he thinks he understands perfectly. 

Somewhere towards the right of the home he’s chosen, Roscoe is settling in for the night. He doesn’t know where Galanthe ended up, though he supposes that if he were here, they would have run into each other by now. He hopes that the end, for him, was quick and easy. He hopes that it did not hurt. 

Murphy gazes over the valley once more before he heads back inside. There’s work to do, for sure - first thing tomorrow, even though it will pain him greatly, he’ll collect the bodies and he will burn them, sending them off following Grounder memorial customs. 

After that - he’ll do the best he can, and that, he thinks, will be more than enough. 

He turns back into the house, sliding into the first bed he finds, and settles in for an easy, dreamless night. 

* * *

Murphy sits in the back of the rover in the middle of the valley, legs dangling over the edge as he looks up into the sky with an easy smile. Roscoe walks around, lazily, grazing on grass without a care in the world. After all this time, the sky is once again blue and clouds roll in and out of view with ease - yet, he’s watching for something else. 

“Here we go again,” Murphy mutters, then pulls the rover’s radio up to his mouth, turning it on with a sigh. “Bellamy - if you can hear me, if you’re alive, it’s been...2,199 days since Praimfaya.”

Murphy pauses, watching Roscoe for a second as he collects his thoughts. “I don’t know why I still do this every day,” he admits, then realizes he’s spoken into the radio. After six years, he supposes he knows for a fact that nobody can hear him, so it doesn’t really matter. “It’s been safe for you to come down for over a year now. Why haven’t you?”

He stops again, taking a second to watch a bird circle slowly and contently overhead. “I still have hope,” he admits, and though it’s been so long, he does. “I haven’t broken my promise, and I know you won’t, either - not if you have anything to say about it. Anyway. Tell Raven to aim for the one spot of green, and you’ll find me. The rest of the planet that I’ve seen basically sucks, so.”

Just as he looks up at the sky again, he sees it - a ship, approaching Earth, slowly coming down to land on the ground. “Never mind,” he says, his smile growing. “I see you.” He puts the radio down and then rises to his feet, watching the ship pass through orbit and then descend down through the sky, closer and closer to his valley. 

It becomes very clear to him, very quickly, that it is not Bellamy. 

The ship is much too large to be from the Ring at all. _Eligius IV_ is written onto the side, and this means absolutely nothing to Murphy. With a sudden haste, he grabs a gun from the rover that he’d scavenged years prior, and races off to hide in the trees, hoping that Roscoe has enough sense to make himself scarce, too. 

It doesn’t take long for the ship to land, and for its people to start looking. 

From what Murphy can tell from his hiding place, there’s about a hundred of them, almost all of them wearing an identical jumpsuit. From appearances alone, it seems to him like he’s looking at a ship full of prisoners, except almost all of them are holding guns. Based on the make and model of the weapons they’re carrying, they had to have come from Earth, but this doesn’t make any sense to him at all. 

As he watches them, he gathers that one woman, who seems to hold herself taller than any of the others, is in charge. She gives out orders as soon as the ship’s doors are open and her people are back on the ground, telling them to search the village and the surrounding woods. Murphy knows it won’t be long until he is found. There’s only one of him, and even if they kill him, he won’t abandon the valley. 

Besides - if they _do_ kill him, he’ll get to awaken to a very, very fun situation. 

Roscoe, evidently, has grown too used to human company and wanders back into the clearing, despite it being swarmed with strangers. “A horse!” one of them shouts, and almost half of the ship’s inhabitants stop what they’re doing and stare. 

One of them, with a grisly beard and a tattooed face, twists his face into a grimace. “You see a horse,” he calls, “I see a meal.” With that, he pulls out a knife, and starts slowly approaching Roscoe, who _still_ doesn’t run. 

“Come on,” Murphy whispers, begging Roscoe to run. Still, the horse stays still. 

“Leave it,” one of the prisoners says, but the one with the knife keeps advancing. 

Murphy’s going to regret this. He knows he will, but - he can’t shoot the man, even if at this distance, the killshot is clear. He’s gone six years without killing anyone or dying himself. It’s been six whole years without coming face to face with Death again, and he’ll do anything to keep that streak going. 

Just as the man gets close enough to strike, Murphy jumps out from the trees. “Hey!” he shouts, levelling his gun even with the armed prisoner’s forehead, even though as soon as he makes his appearance at least ten guns land on him. “Get away from my horse.”

Somehow, this is convincing enough. The man looks towards their leader, who gives him a nod, and then he backs up away from Roscoe. Still, Roscoe doesn’t run, so with a sigh, Murphy turns his gun to the sky and fires one shot. As soon as the sound hits their ears, several birds fly up and away in fear and Roscoe bolts, leaving the clearing in his dust. 

Murphy lowers his weapon. The prisoners do not. 

The woman’s walking up to him, then, offering him a smile that he knows well enough to be fake. “Willing to put yourself in danger to save a horse?” she says. 

“Yeah, well,” Murphy sighs. “He’s a pretty good horse.”

She turns her head to the side, taking in his appearance. He’s done a similar thing enough times in his life to know that she’s assessing this threat level before she speaks again. “Who are you? Is this your home?”

“It is,” he says, “and you just landed in it.”

“Where are the others?”

Murphy raises an eyebrow, neither confirming nor denying the question that he knows doesn’t need to be asked. “I don’t know what you mean,” he says, truthfully.

“Diyoza,” one of the other prisoners snaps, from somewhere back in the crowd. “This is pointless. Let _me_ have at him.”

Their leader, Diyoza, sighs, but then she nods. “Fine. Have it your way, McCreary.” 

Murphy doesn’t get a chance to ask what this means. Before he can take a step or try to run, someone hits him, hard, and he goes down. 

* * *

When he wakes, night has fallen, and there’s a collar around his neck. 

He’s been brought inside one of the other homes that he himself hadn’t used much over the years, but it seems Diyoza has claimed it as her new headquarters. Murphy’s in a chair, and though he isn’t tied to it or contained at all, he suspects the collar will do that job for them. 

Six years of freedom, of staving off Death at every turn because he knew it to be the right thing to do, and this is the thanks he gets. Truthfully, Murphy’s starting to think the universe has a real vendetta against him. 

He blinks, focusing his vision. Diyoza’s sitting in another chair, across from him, and the prisoner she’d called McCreary before is there, too, leering over at him with an evil glint in his eye. “So,” Diyoza says, once she sees he’s awake, “are you going to answer my questions this time?”

“If I recall,” he says, “I didn’t exactly get a chance to answer them before.”

“Watch it,” McCreary snaps, but Diyoza raises a hand to silence him. Reluctantly, he falls back, but Murphy notices the way he’s staring at the collar. 

“Fair point,” Diyoza says. “Let’s start again, shall we? I’m Diyoza - these people are my crew. And you are?”

He pauses, debating not answering her at all, but he knows he has no upper hand here. “Murphy.”

“Just Murphy?”

“Just Murphy.”

She hums, leaning back. “You said this is your home. Where are your people?”

“I don’t have any people.”

Diyoza sighs, and then nods at McCreary, who smiles ominously. There’s a couple seconds of silence, but then out of nowhere, the collar comes to life and Murphy cries out, throwing his head back as electricity slices around and into his neck. It feels like days go by before the collar is shut off again and he can breathe, his vision cloudy and the sound of his heart racing heavy in his ears. 

“Let’s try that again,” Diyoza says, slowly. “Where are your people?”

Murphy raises his head, his voice low. “I said,” he spits, “I don’t _have_ any.”

McCreary moves to turn the collar on again, but then Diyoza raises her hand. “You’re telling the truth,” she says. “Aren’t you?”

“Obviously.”

She laughs, dryly. “Alright - fine, _Just Murphy._ So you live here alone, is that it?”

He answers her through gritted teeth, sweat beading at his brow even though the collar hasn’t been turned on again. “Yes.”

“Fine,” she says. “What happened here, then?”

“What do you mean?”

“The Eligius Four left on a mining mission,” Diyoza explains, “and we’ve spent most of our time in cryosleep. We come back to Earth, only to find it destroyed, save for this one valley. So - why is that?”

He has no idea what she means by “cryosleep,” but from her words, he figures that these people have to have lived on Earth before the first nuclear apocalypse - how they’re here now, he has no idea, but he’s long since given up on the idea of being able to explain everything about the universe. “You’ve got a nuclear apocalypse and a woman named Becca to thank for that,” he says. 

Diyoza looks at him curiously, about to ask him something else, when her radio crackles to life. _“Six hostiles in the woods,”_ the voice coming through it says. _“Are we still playing nice?”_

Her eyes narrow, and she sighs, standing. “Tell them we’ve got one of theirs,” she says, through the radio. “If they don’t come willingly, start killing them until they do.” 

“What do we do with this one?” McCreary says. 

Diyoza gazes at him, eyes full of disgust. “You’ve lied to me,” she says. “You will have to pay for that. Bring him outside.” 

“I didn’t,” Murphy tries, genuinely not sure of what to make of that radio call, but nobody is listening to him, not anymore. McCreary grabs him by the shoulders and then roughly pushes him forwards, ignoring the way Murphy stumbles. 

They make it outside, then, and Murphy trips down the stairs of the wooden home, crashing onto the ground below, face-first. The sky is pitch black, and the prisoners all erupt into laughter at his entrance. As soon as he tries to get onto his knees, the collar comes to life and he screams, falling back to the ground as he loses control of all his limbs. Still, the prisoners laugh. 

When the collar turns off, Murphy starts crawling. He can’t think straight enough to formulate an escape plan. All he knows is that he has to get _away_. He can barely see as he keeps dragging himself across the ground, trying to escape the nightmare that has taken over his home. 

And then - someone steps out of the woods. 

There’s a line of torches around the perimeter of the camp the prisoners have set up, but it isn’t quite enough light for Murphy to see anything. “I’m unarmed,” the newcomer says. “I just want to talk.” Instantly, Murphy stops crawling and freezes in place on the ground, staring at the direction the voice came from. He knows that voice. He’d know it anywhere, but it - it’s impossible. 

“Talk?” Diyoza says. “Give me a reason not to kill you where you stand.”

“How about I give you two hundred and eighty three?” 

Some more conversation goes on, but none of it registers with Murphy, who’s still reeling over what he thinks is going on right in front of him. But - it can’t be. He’s seeing things, from the electric shocks. He’s lost his mind. Maybe none of this is real. Maybe, after six years with only a horse and a radio that doesn’t work to talk to, Murphy’s finally lost it. 

Diyoza’s voice pulls him back to reality. “Two hundred and eighty three lives,” she says. “He must be pretty important to you.”

The owner of the voice steps forwards, until they are completely illuminated by the torchlight. Murphy blinks, and he gasps as they come into focus, trembling for many more reasons than the wind. 

“He is,” Bellamy says, and Murphy knows he’ll be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just call me the queen of turning bellarke moments into murphamy ones hehe
> 
> thank you all so much for reading!! i hope you all enjoyed this chapter, even though it was a bit slower, emotional & introspective. and thank you all again to everyone leaving such lovely comments on this fic. i weep. seriously i weep i cry reading your nice words sometimes to thank you, i am so beyond pleased people are enjoying this <3 big thanks to charlie and oog for always answering my odd murphy questions. i have used them all as a reference many times over on this fic. 
> 
> as always, i am on twitter @reference! come say hi, if you like. thanks again, have a lovely day!!


	15. death comes so far short

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The nearest friends can go  
> With anyone to death, comes so far short  
> They might as well not try to go at all.  
> No, from the time when one is sick to death,  
> One is alone, and he dies more alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for mentioned & talked about suicide in this chapter.

The prisoner called McCreary takes him to a holding cell on their ship, where he roughly pulls the electric collar off of Murphy’s neck. It’s clear from the disdain in his eyes that he doesn’t want to be doing this, but he does not falter, and Murphy tries his best not to, either. 

With nothing more than a grumble, once the collar is removed McCreary turns away and begins walking out the door. “Hey,” Murphy says. He gets up from the unmade bed, the sole piece of furniture in the cell, and takes a couple steps towards McCreary and the door. “You can’t keep me here.”

McCreary turns, then grins so sadistically that Murphy stops trying to follow him. “I can’t?”

_ You can’t,  _ Murphy wants to say.  _ You can’t, because I made a promise to myself and Death six years ago that I would never be caged in, not for one second longer, and you’re making me break that promise -  _ but, for the same reason, he holds his ground and bites his tongue. “Aren’t I going free? Isn’t that the deal?”

McCreary looks him up and down, the smile never falling from his face. “Kid,” he says, his voice low, “if it were up to me, you’d be dead already.”

With that, he leaves, the door sliding shut behind him as he goes. Murphy sighs, slowly stepping back until he gently sits back down on the bed, feet still touching the floor and hands pressed into the mattress at his sides. 

He takes a long, slow breath, closing his eyes as his chin drops closer to his chest. It does nothing to still his trembling form. In less than a day, his home has been stolen from him, and there was nothing he could have done to stop it. He doesn’t know why the prisoners are here, or if they’re actually prisoners at all, but it’s clear to him that they aren’t planning on leaving anytime soon. The tranquility and peacefulness he’d felt for the last six years from finally being able to separate where Murphy ends and Death begins, well - it’s all been stolen from him. 

The image of the torches the prisoners had set up outside the ship floods back in his mind. He thinks about the flames on top and how they flickered in the night sky, so fragile in their form, yet so violent. It’d be so easy to light a torch of his own and set fire to the whole valley. It’d be devoured and burned away in seconds, and while it’s true that he wouldn’t be able to live there, at least the prisoners would be forced to move on, too. He’s already lost his home. Why should anyone else get to claim it?

For a moment he’s a child again, on the Ark, standing in the quarters of the guard that got his father floated. There were many reasons why he lit that fire, but none of them good enough to excuse all the events that came after that day. After all, his father is still up in space somewhere, dying and reviving on repeat for all eternity. The fire didn’t fix anything. Still, he can’t deny the tempting allure of the flames. 

Maybe he hasn’t changed, after all. 

He sighs, then raises his head. When he opens his eyes, Bellamy’s standing in the doorway, hovering in the entranceway. His fingers  _ tap _ against the door frame absentmindedly as he stares, a look of wonder dawning in his eyes. 

Maybe Murphy hasn’t changed, but - maybe he’s done one thing right. “So, it’s true,” he says, “you’re back.” His voice is very, very quiet. The distant sounds of the prisoners and the valley outside fall away, and it’s just the two of them, alone at last. 

“I’m back,” Bellamy whispers, and he takes a step into the holding cell, but he looks awkward and unsteady on his feet. He runs a nervous hand through his unruly hair, but still, he smiles. 

Murphy raises an eyebrow, unable to stop himself from smirking. “You weren’t able to shave up on the Ark, huh?”

As soon as he says this, Bellamy raises a hand to feel his beard, as if he’d been unaware it was there until Murphy had said so. “Thought I’d try something new,” he says, after a beat. 

They laugh, and the sound is beautiful. Reality, though, comes back, and suddenly Murphy feels more vulnerable than he has in years. “Bellamy,” is all he’s able to say before they are both moving towards each other, Bellamy’s arms wrapping around Murphy just as he’s learning how to breathe again. His face feels warm and his throat feels tight, and he’s not crying, but it feels as though he should be. 

“You made it,” Bellamy whispers next to his ear, keeping a tight hold on him, as if he’s afraid if he lets go another six years will pass. 

“I made a promise,” Murphy manages to say. 

They stay like this for a few seconds more, but once again, their current situation starts to weigh on their shoulders once more. Murphy steps back once Bellamy’s hold is released, wiping away tears that have yet to fall. “So,” he says, his breath coming fast and his heart moving quickly, “you made it, then.”

“Yeah,” Bellamy says, gazing at him with shining eyes. “We made it to the Ring.”

Murphy shakes his head. It doesn’t feel like it should be as easy as this. “Well what took you so long, asshole?” Before he can stop himself, he lightly shoves Bellamy on the shoulder, pushing him back only slightly. 

To his credit, Bellamy only smiles, though it’s clear there’s pain behind it. “We didn’t have any fuel,” he says. “There was no way to come back down. I’m so sorry, Murphy. I’m  _ so _ sorry, it felt horrible each and every day, knowing you were down here, just waiting-”

“It’s okay,” Murphy says. “At least I know you weren’t avoiding me on purpose.”

Bellamy’s eyes seem to shine a little less. “We all thought of you,” he says. “Every single day.”

He only nods, not sure how to even begin processing that information. “Then - you all made it back? Everyone’s alive?”

At this, Bellamy’s smile fades and his mouth tightens into a frown. “Almost everyone.”

Murphy’s almost too scared to ask. “Almost?”

“Abby didn’t make it.”

Even though he’d been sure they were all dead for the past year, still, Murphy’s heart sinks. He and Abby may have had their differences, but he grieves her all the same, especially knowing how devastated Clarke must have been. “What happened?”

Once again Bellamy runs a hand through his hair, a clear sign of anxiety he’d developed at some point up on the Ring. “During our first week up there,” he says, “she got up in the middle of the night and floated herself.”

_ What a cruel, senseless death,  _ Murphy thinks, but he knows better than to say it. “Oh.”

“She didn’t leave a note,” he continues, “and she never said why.”

Murphy nods, taking this information and storing it somewhere to be processed later, when he knows how to deal with his emotions again. “Everyone else?” he asks, desperate to change the subject. “Did everyone else make it?”

“Raven and Emori are up on the prisoner’s ship still, but - everyone else is here, on the ground.”

“Wait - there’s another ship? Why would they be on it?”

Bellamy sighs, and then explains that they’d been stuck on the Ring until the prisoner’s ship, the  _ Eligius IV,  _ came into orbit. They’d gotten enough fuel on that for the rocket to make one final trip down to the planet’s surface. While on the ship, though, they’d learned that a transport ship had already gone down to the planet, and there were 283 sleeping prisoners in cryosleep. Raven and Emori had stayed on the ship so they could use those prisoners as a bargaining chip, which had worked. 

“They’re going to help us clear the bunker,” he finishes, “and then fly Raven and Emori back down. As soon as that’s done, we’ll release the prisoners, and reach a new deal to live at peace.”

‘Living at peace,’ felt like more of a joke than anything, but Murphy can’t deny that their plan had worked, and without the prisoners coming here he never would have gotten Bellamy back. “Where is everyone else?”

“With the rocket,” he replies. “We’re going to go to the bunker soon.” He starts telling him more, like how they’d seen the piles of rubble on top of the bunker from space, and how Raven had gone through the flight logs and learned that these people were prisoners on Earth before the first nuclear apocalypse, going to another world to mine, before they’d killed the crew and flown back, spending most of the time in cryosleep so they didn’t age. 

Truthfully, Murphy doesn’t listen to most of it. “There’s something I have to do before we go,” he says. “Are they letting us leave?”

Bellamy doesn’t question it. “Yeah, we can leave.”

“Good,” Murphy says, and then he’s walking out the door, moving quickly so as to get where he’s going before some prisoner pillages it. Still, as he passes Bellamy he freezes for just a second. It’s been six years. Murphy’s not a fool - despite their conversation, there’s no guarantee that they’re going to pick up right where they left off. 

But right now, in this moment, he feels brave. Quickly, Murphy grabs Bellamy’s hand in his, pulling him out of the room behind him and clutching onto him all the way. Bellamy doesn’t try to fight it. 

Murphy walks out of the transport ship and through the valley without a word, ignoring the way the prisoners stop what they’re doing to stare at them as they pass, and the way his neck starts to itch like the collar is still around it. Roscoe, he sees, has not yet come back to the valley. This is good for his safety, but Murphy can’t help but miss his presence. 

He leads Bellamy up the hill and to the doorway of the place he’d claimed as his house for the past six years. Thankfully, none of the prisoners seems to have entered it yet. “Welcome,” Murphy says, pushing the door open and leading Bellamy inside. “I’d say make yourself at home, but - well, you know.”

Bellamy laughs, then steps into the main room, looking up and around at everything. There truly isn’t much to look at. The house is just one large room, with a bed in the corner and some books and other belongings collected into piles that he’d collected from the various other houses still standing in the valley. 

None of this is what Murphy came for. On the walls are close to a hundred drawings at this point, some of them from six years prior in the bedroom at the lab, and some of them as recent as weeks ago. He’d like to think his skills had improved, but truthfully, he doesn’t care about that. As Bellamy continues to be awestruck, Murphy starts delicately taking them all down from the walls, gently sliding them into an empty bag, the same one he’d taken from the lab after Praimfaya. 

“You lived here?” Bellamy asks, turning around in a circle to take in the full view. 

“Yep,” Murphy says. 

Silence follows this, and he realizes that Bellamy’s staring at him and all the drawings as he’s taking them down. “I remember some of these,” he says, softly. “You had them in the lab.” His voice fades out as he gets lost, staring at one in particular, a drawn still-shot of the Ark on fire, during the massacre that had wiped out Skaikru. It’s hung up in a corner, right next to one of the radiation chamber in the lab. Not all of his pictures were happy. 

“Some of them, yeah,” Murphy agrees, pulling Bellamy out of his own memories. “I’m not about to lose them to some prisoner who uses them for kindling.” 

“You drew a lot,” he says, and then he moves to the opposite wall and starts taking them down, too, putting them in neatly into piles with a grace and gentleness seldom seen. 

Murphy only shrugs, but he does smile. “It kept me sane,” he admits. “These, and Roscoe, of course.”

“Roscoe?”

“Yeah, my horse.”

“Wait, you don’t mean - Clarke’s old horse? From Arkadia?”

Murphy laughs. “Yeah - he found the valley long before I ever did.”

Bellamy laughs, too, and Murphy turns around to join in his joy, but then his eyes widen as he sees the drawing he’s in the process of taking down from the wall. “Wait!” he says, moving forwards and gently plucking it from Bellamy’s grasp. “Not this one.”

He stares at the drawing for a few seconds longer than necessary, noticing that Bellamy never takes his eyes off him. “That’s me, isn’t it?” he says, and Murphy nods, lost in the moment. It’s the same drawing from the lab he did more than six years ago, a perfect image of Bellamy hovering in the bedroom doorway, waiting to ask him on a trip with him without actually asking. 

Gently, and with as much care as he can, Murphy folds the picture in half and then in half again, sliding the page into his jacket pocket. “It’s my favourite,” he mumbles, feeling a slight blush creep up his cheeks, the sentiment hard to get out. 

Bellamy positively beams. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Murphy says, “but - I like the real thing better.”

For a moment, he doesn’t move, but then Bellamy nods in understanding and swiftly puts the rest of the drawings into Murphy’s bag, handing it over to him when he’s done. He slings it onto his back, watching Bellamy cross the floor and move to the doorway, propping it open with his foot and tapping just one finger against the frame, holding out his other hand towards Murphy. “Our friends are waiting at the rocket,” he says. “Would you like to come with me, Murphy?”

And - it’s like he’s back at the lab, and Bellamy is inviting him to take the boat and steal away into the night with him, and he’s also in the bedroom and Bellamy’s at the door, longing for his company but unsure of how to say so, and six years have passed and absolutely everything is different now, but some things will never, ever change. 

“I would love to,” Murphy says, and he takes Bellamy’s hand, and together, they through the valley and into the trees. 

* * *

It’s a short distance from the center of the valley to where the rocket touched down, so it doesn’t take them long to get there. True to Bellamy’s word, everyone save for Raven and Emori who went up to the Ring six years prior is waiting there for them. Murphy almost doesn’t want to approach the clearing. After six years of solitude, he isn’t sure he’s ready to enter that world again so quickly. Bellamy’s grip on his hand never falters and he joins them nonetheless, but still, he’s nervous. 

Then he’s there, and everyone’s yelling and he’s being hugged more in the span of seconds than he has been in his whole life. Murphy’s trying not to cry from the joy that clings tightly to his heart, as he looks around the group and he feels his chest swell from happiness. Now, as they’re all in front of him, he knows he missed them. He knows they’re his friends. 

Bellamy breaks off to tell the others the deal he’s secured with the prisoners, but Murphy lingers with Clarke and Lexa, taking an extra moment with the two he had grown to consider like family during their time in Polis. He notices, as he embraces them both again, that they seem softer now, and more gentle. Both wear easy smiles and despite what’s going on around them, they’re relaxed. Murphy thinks that, as long as they had each other, this would always remain the case. 

“So,” he says, “how was space?”

Clarke only rolls her eyes, while Lexa absolutely beams. “It was beyond what I could have ever imagined,” she admits. “I only ever dreamed I would ever be so close to the stars.”

“Well, I’m glad the Ark was good to someone,” he laughs, but then his gaze falls on Clarke and his heart grows heavy once more. “I - I’m so sorry, Clarke. I heard what happened.”

She smiles, and though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes the attempt is genuine. “Thank you,” she says, “but for the most part...the Ring wasn’t too bad.”

He laughs once, looking between the two. “Yeah, I bet.”

“Not like  _ that!”  _ she cries, but it’s lighthearted. 

“Raven and Emori too, huh?” he says, remembering the way he saw them interact back in the lab. Even then, it was obvious they were kindred spirits at the very least. 

Clarke smiles. “Yeah, that happened pretty early on. Monty and Harper, too.”

Murphy glances over at them, then nods. It makes sense. “I’m happy for them,” he admits. “I’m happy for you  _ all.” _

She glances over at the others too, then looks back at him with a smirk. “Seems I should be pretty happy for you, too.”

“Shut up, Griffin,” he says, and somehow, it doesn’t feel like six years have passed at all. 

There isn’t much time for talking after that, as they have to go to the bunker to assist the prisoners in clearing out the rubble covering it. During the trip, Murphy thinks he really should stop calling them  _ prisoners.  _ There isn’t anyone here to keep them captive, anymore, he supposes. As he walks alongside his friends to rescue those trapped in the bunker, he supposes that there isn’t anyone to keep any of them captive anymore - at least, he hopes. 

Still, the space around his neck where the collar once was itches. 

It doesn’t take them long to make it to the bunker. Diyoza’s already there, ordering her people around as they lifted and moved rocks out of the way, slowly but steadily clearing away the rubble from the giant tower of Polis that had fallen and blocked off the entryway to the bunker. “You’re here,” she says, when she sees them approach. Despite this being part of Bellamy’s deal, she doesn’t sound too happy about it. 

“As promised,” Bellamy says, and then with a quick glance at Murphy, he walks closer to Diyoza to speak with her about the work being done. Before, this is a job he’s sure that Clarke would have done. Somewhere down the line, Bellamy became the unspoken leader, and he wonders when this happened. 

Without Bellamy to stand next to, Murphy isn’t sure what to do with himself. Clarke and Lexa are wrapped in conversation, as is Monty and Harper. He rocks on his heels and studies his nails for a moment, unsure of what else to do, until someone sidles up next to him. 

“Hi,” Jasper says. He doesn’t look at Murphy, instead continuing to gaze out at the prisoners moving rocks around. 

Murphy, too, looks straight forward. “Hi.” He’d had a brief chance to reunite with Jasper, back at the rocket, but they hadn’t yet had a full conversation since six years prior, when they’d gotten the oxygenator from Becca’s island. 

“Look,” he says, “I’m not going to give you a speech or anything.” 

There’s an odd beat of silence as Jasper stops talking entirely. “Okay?”

“That said,” he finally continues, “I guess I owe you some thanks.”

Still, they don’t look each other in the eye, but Murphy shakes his head. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“Nah, I do,” he replies. “I’m not going to lie - when you volunteered to go fix the satellite before I could, I was pretty angry with you.”

Murphy nods, just slightly. “Yeah, I thought you might be.”

“And then, Abby opened the airlock and, well…” He trails off, biting his bottom lip like he’s unsure of what exactly he’s trying to say. “Look, the point is, I didn’t want to hurt anybody. I never did.”

“I know.”

“But being on the Ring was...nice. I didn’t think it would be, but it was nice. And I wouldn’t have had that if you’d let me go fix the satellite instead, so. Thank you.”

The times he’d shared with Jasper had always stuck in his memory as some of the best, so Murphy merely smiles. “You don’t owe me anything,” he repeats, and he thinks Jasper understands. 

They spend most of the rest of the process in silence, breaking it only to comment on the prisoners’ technique and work ethic, yet never actually doing any work themselves. Eventually, the rocks clear, and a hole is blasted in the top of the bunker, exposing those below to sunlight for the first time in six years. 

Bellamy looks over at Murphy, eyes wide, full of both hope and fear at what they could find. “Go get your sister,” he calls to him, doing his best to sound encouraging, but the truth is he doesn’t know what they’ll find. He’d tried to clear the rubble himself, back when Praimfaya had first hit, but he’d been unable to. After all this time, anything could be down there. 

They give him a rope, and then Bellamy’s being lowered into the bunker, dropping down into the depths below. Clarke, Lexa, Monty, and Harper all step closer, moving closer to the edge, hoping to catch just a glimpse of what’s going on. 

Several minutes go by. Murphy’s getting close to demanding Diyoza bring Bellamy back up, but then, the rope is tugged on, the prisoners start to pull, and both Bellamy and Octavia emerge. 

Murphy can’t help it - he cheers at the sight, and soon his friends are too, much to the annoyance of the prisoners all around them. The two of them place their feet on solid ground again, both of them smiling wider than they ever have before. Octavia looks a lot different than he remembers - her hair is longer and falls straight off her shoulders, her skin is pale and almost gaunt, and she’s too thin, but as she stares up at the sun in awe, she’s never looked happier. 

More prisoners take ropes and enter the bunker, bringing up people one by one. Lincoln’s one of the next to come up, and despite being at her side for six years, he instantly embraces Octavia, the sunlight acting as a halo on them both. Miller and Jackson come to the surface, too, the two of them close and holding each other as they remember what fresh air feels like. 

For a moment, it’s perfect. Murphy rejoins Bellamy at his side, and he feels close to crying only because everyone around him already is. He starts embracing and greeting those he once knew, even if he didn’t know them well, but now they hug him back. It feels weird, to have such a high level of automatic affection directed towards him, but maybe after all this time and all the struggle they went through, he and everyone else here deserves it. 

“We almost didn’t make it,” Octavia’s saying to her brother. “The soil in the farm became unusable. Many died of starvation or exhaustion. Another year...maybe even another month, and we’d all be dead.”

“You did it, O,” Bellamy says. “You led these people. You saved so many lives.”

“I didn’t do it alone,” she replies. “Without Lincoln I wouldn’t have been able to. Without his support, I...I don’t know what would have happened.”

Despite all their differences, and their history, Bellamy and Lincoln embrace, too. “Thank you,” Bellamy says. “For everything.”

“It was my pleasure,” Lincoln replies, and it’s clear he means it.

“Now, tell me about you!” Octavia insists. “I want to hear all about space.”

Bellamy smiles, and opens his mouth to answer, but then someone starts to scream and everything stops. All the happy reunions that had been going on all around them cease, instantly, and despite there being hundreds of people scattered amidst the ground that had just been in the bunker, the air is still. 

Murphy turns to the source of the scream, to see Diyoza, a long knife embedded in her chest. She’s stumbling backwards, her eyes moving around wildly, trying to find the culprit as she splutters. Blood starts trailing out of her mouth but still, she stays on her feet. 

Calmly and without a care, McCreary steps forwards and walks towards Diyoza. Just like the last time Murphy saw him, he’s still got that awful, wicked grin on his face. “Charmaine,” he says, his voice carrying across the entire clearing, cutting right through the stunned silence. “You had a good run. I’m so sorry it had to end like this.”

Diyoza tries to take a swing at him, but her wound is deep and she misses by a long shot. “As my thanks for all you’ve done,” McCreary continues, “I’ll make this quick.” Murphy hadn’t realized before, but every single one of the prisoners had moved to stand behind McCreary, leaving them on one side of the hole in the ground and everyone else on the other. 

In one fluid motion, he yanks the knife out of her stomach and grabs her, pulling her back against his chest so that the two of them are both staring at those they just saved from the bunker. It seems as though he locks eyes with Murphy as his grin widens, blood dripping onto the ground from the knife in his hand and Diyoza’s wound. Wasting no more time, McCreary brings the knife up and slits Diyoza’s throat. Blood spills from the cut as she dies, coating her clothes and McCreary’s hand. He holds her there in his arms for one second longer, and then pushes her forwards, her lifeless body falling through the hole in the ground and landing inside the bunker with a distant  _ thud.  _ Death follows her down, crawling out of the peoples’ shadows and slinking into the hole, arms outstretched as they reach for the corpse. 

None of the prisoners react. 

“Now,” McCreary says, shaking bloody droplets off the knife and watching them splatter on the ground every which way, “here’s how it’s gonna be.”

“What have you done?” Bellamy whispers in horror, but if he hears him, McCreary doesn’t react. 

“The valley is  _ ours _ ,” he continues. “You can respect that, and leave, or we can kill you. It’s that simple.”

“No,” Murphy says, the reaction instantaneous. He steps forwards, and though Bellamy throws an arm out to try and stop him, he shoves it aside and keeps going. “No!” he cries, louder. 

McCreary looks at him curiously, then recognition dawns in his eyes and he mimes throwing a knife right at Murphy’s face. “I told you I would kill you already,” he says. “It’s not any different now.”

“I don’t know how you got all of them to follow you,” Murphy calls, gesturing to the rest of the prisoners, lined up silently behind McCreary, “but you have no claim to that valley. There’s enough room to  _ share. _ ”

“How did I ‘get them’ to follow me?” McCreary parrots back, laughing. “They  _ wanted  _ to. Diyoza here was bending to the will of strangers.  _ I _ know, just like they know, that we’ve been wronged. We deserve a home. And if this valley is the last green spot on Earth, well, then - it’s ours.”

“It doesn’t have to be this way!” he says, still trying to get through to him, though he knows at this point that it’s pointless. Still, he can’t believe that six years of peace are going to be ruined because of one man. 

Suddenly, Bellamy’s at his side, no longer trying to stop him from confronting them and instead joining him. “What about my people?” he calls. “Two of mine are up on your ship. Diyoza promised she’d get them down.”

Talk like this is clearly boring McCreary, but he answers anyway. “While Diyoza was busy here,” he says, “our pilot and some of my men went up to the ship and retook control.”

Bellamy’s eyes go wide. “If you killed them-”

“You’ll what?” McCreary asks, cutting him off. When Bellamy doesn’t immediately answer, he nods smugly. “That’s right. You wouldn’t do anything. Lucky for you, though - I didn’t.” At this, he whistles, the noise ringing through the air loud and sharp. Seconds later, three prisoners emerge from where they’d been hiding behind the leftover structure of a building. Raven and Emori are pushed out with them, each of them gagged and their hands tied. 

Bellamy sighs in relief, but his shoulders hang heavy. They may have gotten their people back, but Murphy knows this means they have absolutely nothing to bargain with. Yes, they had the numbers, and could try an attack right this second - but the prisoners had guns. They’d all be massacred in seconds. 

The prisoners keep pushing Raven and Emori forwards until they reach the hole in the ground dividing the two groups. Clarke and Lexa leap forwards, each of them pulling their friends to safety and using themselves as shields just in case McCreary tries anything at the last second. As soon as they make it to their side, they free them from their gags and Lexa cuts their bindings off with a small knife. 

“Long time no see,” Raven mutters, eyes landing on Murphy as she rubs her bruised wrists. 

“No kidding,” he says, eyeing them both over. “You alright?”

“We’re fine,” Emori says, “for now, anyways.”

Murphy nods, then turns his attention back to McCreary, who has begun speaking once more. “I allowed your people to be free from the bunker,” he says, “ _ and _ I’ve brought back the two you stranded in space. I’ve been nothing but generous.”

“Why?” Octavia calls, suddenly, joining them at the front line. Murphy supposes he shouldn’t be surprised - she did just spend six years being a pseudo-Commander. 

McCreary raises an eyebrow, but still, he smiles. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Why free us?” she continues. “We outnumber you, now. Surely you don’t want a war.”

“It’s simple,” he replies. “If there’s a war to be won, we’ll win it.  _ But _ \- if an invasion is launched in the valley, we’ll destroy it, and nobody gets it.”

None of them are sure what to say. “Destroy it?” Bellamy asks, voice unsteady. 

McCreary throws his head back and laughs, the sound echoing across the clearing and tearing into their ears. “We’ve got nothing to lose!” he yells, “and our ship can bomb out the valley, easy. Isn’t that right?” He’s looking at Raven, now, who wears a grim expression on her face. 

“Yeah,” she says, slowly. “They can. They can bomb the valley, and in the process, destroy Earth for good.”

“See?” McCreary says. “I’m not lying.”

“You’d kill your people just to make sure that we don’t get the valley?” Bellamy calls back. 

McCreary just stares at him. “A sacrifice for the greater good,” he says. “If we can’t have the valley, then  _ nobody  _ can.”

“You’re insane,” Murphy whispers, and then louder he calls, “you’re insane!” 

If anything, McCreary likes hearing this, and only shrugs as he turns around and walks away, all of his people following him. Silence hangs heavy in the valley as they all stand still and watch them leave, disappearing into the horizon to claim their one hope for a new home. 

“You’re insane,” Murphy repeats, but nobody seems to hear him. 

* * *

It takes Wonkru half an hour to embark on their invasion of the valley. 

Octavia does her best to control them, but Murphy’s not listening to a word she says. He can’t stop laughing at the name.  _ Wonkru.  _ So much for unity, he supposes, watching as at least three quarters of them are demanding they invade and claim the valley today, despite their leader’s wishes. 

“You led us in the bunker,” one of them says. “We are not in the bunker anymore.”

There’s a point hidden deep in there, somewhere, but Murphy can’t focus on that. Instead, he turns his attention to Bellamy, who is somehow arguing for this idea. “I think they’re right,” he says. “We have the numbers. They’re not expecting us to try something so soon. We could take them by surprise.”

“No,” Murphy says, instantly. “People will die, Bell. A  _ lot _ of people will die.”

“Maybe,” Bellamy agrees, “maybe not.”

“It’s suicide,” Monty says. For a moment, Murphy can’t believe that he and Monty are agreeing on something, but he’s grateful to have him on his side. “They’ll destroy the valley. You saw McCreary - he means it.”

“And they can do it, too,” Raven agrees. “In a minute, they can detonate a bomb powerful enough to wipe out  _ all _ life on Earth.”

Bellamy’s shaking his head. “If we don’t try, where does that leave us? There’s no more usable land.”

“We have the numbers,” Lexa says, agreeing. “We should go now, while we are ready and they are not.”

_ “No!”  _ Murphy cries, and it’s enough to make everyone stop and look at him. “I lived in this valley for six years,” he continues, slowly, determined to keep his voice from breaking. “I am  _ not _ letting it be destroyed by a pointless war.”

Bellamy’s staring at him sadly, almost pitifully, and Murphy hates it. He hates that they can’t agree on this, he hates that Bellamy can’t understand his point of view, and he hates that maybe things have changed, after all. Monty nods along in agreement, and Clarke does, too, trying to come up with a plan to save them all as she often did, but it all means nothing to him if he and Bellamy are at an impasse. 

His words are moving, but in the end, it doesn’t matter. Behind them, Wonkru starts mobilizing, marching out of the clearing and in the direction of the valley.  _ “Wait!”  _ Octavia’s screaming, but her hold on them has been lost. Hundreds of people who survived six years in the bunker are now marching to their death, and there is nothing any of them can do to stop it. 

“Like it or not,” Bellamy says, purposefully refusing to look Murphy in the eye, “this is happening. We have to be ready.”

But no - he’s not ready for it to end, not like this. “Raven,” Murphy says, “if we got you into their ship, could you stop them from detonating that bomb?”

Raven’s brow knits. “No,” she says, “from what I know, they can detonate it remotely - but what I  _ can _ do is ready the ship for takeoff.” 

“Takeoff?” Bellamy repeats. 

“An escape,” she says. “We’re not winning this, Bellamy. But if I can get it ready, then at the very least we have a way to survive.”

Bellamy, though, isn’t ready to admit it. “We’ll get there when we get there,” he says, “but okay. Murphy and Lexa, you get Raven and Emori onto the ship. The rest of us will do what we can in the battle.”

“Since when,” Murphy says, very slowly and quietly, “did you start giving me orders?”

His eyes widen. No one is sure what to say. Though he knows he doesn’t have to, Murphy’s the one that breaks the silence, walking away from the group. Lexa follows at his side with one last squeeze of Clarke’s hand, Raven and Emori close behind. 

Lexa doesn’t try to change his mind, or comfort him. “He does care about you, very deeply,” is all she says. 

It’s all he can do not to laugh bitterly. “He sent me with you because I can sacrifice myself to make sure the rest of you make it to the ship, you know.”

She pauses. “Perhaps,” she counters, “he sent you with us so that you would not be in the main battle, and would be safer.”

He hadn’t thought of it like that, and isn’t sure he wants to, not when anger is burning so deeply in his skin. “Maybe,” is all he says, and thankfully, she lets them leave it at that. 

It’s not a long way to the valley. Wonkru have chosen to go through the main entrance, passing through a long chasm that would take them directly to the center. Theoretically, if they can make it through that, they’ll have a fair shot at taking the prisoners out. Murphy’s group goes the long way, above the hill and back down until they’re at the back of the valley, creeping inside towards where their ship is. 

The first part of the plan goes smoothly. Lexa’s only armed with one knife that she must have collected on the Ring, but as they sneak their way into the valley she only has to take out one prisoner guarding the front of the ship, who seems to be on his own. “It is quiet,” she says, looking around the section of the valley they’re in, as if waiting for someone to step out of the foliage, but no one does. 

“Let’s go before that changes,” Murphy hisses, but still, she pauses. 

“No,” Raven agrees, “It’s  _ too _ quiet.”

Right after the words leave her mouth, the air fills with gunshots. 

Many rounds fire, one after the other, so loud against the stillness of the air that it’s all they can hear. “They’re all at the chasm,” Murphy realizes, straightening now that he knows they don’t have to worry about being hidden. “They saw this coming. They knew they’d take that way, and that’s where they all are.”

“Either way,” Lexa says, “we have a job to do.”

She enters the ship, waving Raven and Emori in once it’s safe. Both are capable, but neither are armed. Still, he does not move. “I have to go,” he says. 

“Murphy!” Lexa hisses, “do not abandon the plan!”

“I’m sorry,” he says, “but I have to go. I have to save him - I have to save all of them.”

Lexa’s eyes fill with sadness. “You know that is impossible.” Still, as she speaks, more bullets are flying through the air. 

“Maybe,” he agrees, “but I have to try.” He’s staved Death off of the valley for six years running. Maybe, just maybe, he can keep at it for a little bit longer. 

Before she can say anything else, he runs off, her Trigedasleng curses in the distance fading away as he moves towards the gunfire. Several times, he wonders what he’s doing. He’s got no plan. Maybe he can’t die, but he can’t do much while facing a dozen or more machine guns all pressing down at him. 

But yet - he keeps coming back to that point. He’s staved off Death for years. He’s gotten good at it. Maybe the angel of death was always meant to keep it away. For so long, he’s searched for a meaningful use for his abilities, and now - this could be it. 

The chasm is in front of him before he knows it. He doesn’t have to get close to see the bodies that line that ground. Some of the living huddle behind rocks, keeping flat, doing their best to stay hidden, but most of Wonkru never had a chance. 

He doesn’t see Bellamy immediately. Maybe this is why he has the confidence to run right into the chasm, staring up at the jagged cliff walls surrounding him, where prisoners stand staggered along the top of the rock, staring down at him. Every single one of them carries a gun in their hands, and as soon as he enters, at least half of them aim their barrels at him. “McCreary!” he yells, despite this. 

Someone whistles, and the guns drop. Above him, McCreary steps into view, laughing as he sees Murphy. “I like you,” he calls down. “You’ve got some nerve.”

“Please,” he says, “we can share the valley. Especially now that you’ve murdered almost all of us.”

For a second, McCreary considers this. He looks around the chasm at the mass of bodies, bleeding out as they speak. Murphy looks, too, but then he catches movement from behind a rock and his eyes meet Bellamy’s, relief flooding his chest as he sees that he’s alive. Bellamy’s looking at him in shock, like he’s absolutely lost it this time, and, well - maybe he has. 

“No,” McCreary finally calls down. “I’m not a liar.”

“You’ve made your point!” Murphy cries. “You can have over half the valley. You can have  _ most _ of it, even!”

“Not good enough.”

“I’ll teach you how to farm here! We’ll show you how to thrive!”

McCreary sighs, setting down his gun and holding up a small device in his hands, that looks somewhat like a remote control. “You see this?” he asks. “I push this button, and that bomb I warned you about arms itself and gets ready to detonate.”

“Don’t,” Murphy pleads. “It’s not worth it. It isn’t.”

“I seem to recall saying that if there was an invasion, I’d detonate this bomb,” he continues. “I see an invasion attempt in front of me, and I already explained to you, I’m not a liar.”

“You can build a life here,” Murphy says. “It can be beautiful. Life here can be so, so beautiful.”

McCreary’s far above and away from him, but he seems to genuinely look mournful. “Ah, but that’s where we disagree,” he says. “It was never about life. We’ve all been mining our whole lives. We’re all dying from some sickness, one way or another. This was never about building a life. This was about finding a good place to die - and if we can’t have that, at least we can go out fighting.”

There’s not much Murphy can say to this revelation, but still, he tries. “Then for us,” he pleads, “leave it for us, for someone - for the future.”

“Look, kid,” McCreary says, “I  _ do  _ like you. So how about this? I’ll make sure you go quick. You won’t even have to feel it.”

Murphy staggers back in horror, stumbling over the uneven rocks at his feet. “Please,” he tries again, but his voice is small. 

“Thanks for this,” McCreary says, “it was fun.” And then, not missing a beat, he waves his hand and five different men aim their guns at Murphy’s chest. He only has the time to look to his right, to meet Bellamy’s gaze one last time, before  _ one, two, three  _ bullets are ripping through his chest and his body falls to the ground, dead, just one more victim in a needless massacre that never needed to happen. 

* * *

_ “It’s not fair!” Murphy yells, storming around the chasm. In this version of the afterlife, he can’t see any of the bodies or the prisoners above them. He suspects it’s because he can’t stomach it.  _

_ “No,” Death agrees, “it isn’t.” _

_ “I didn’t want this! I told them not to! I told them what would happen!” _

_ “Yes, you did.” _

_ “It’s not fair! None of this is fair! After all those years, and this is how it ends? I do everything I can, and it still ends like this?” _

_ Death, somehow, seems to grieve with him. “You won’t believe me,” they say, “but I, too, enjoyed not having to see you as often.” _

_ Murphy scoffs. “As often? I didn’t see you for six years straight.” _

_ Quietly, Death hums. “Just because you did not see me, doesn’t mean I wasn’t there.” _

_ “What do you mean?” Murphy asks, but already the world around him is fading and he’s being thrown back into the land of the living. “No - wait - I’m not ready. I’m not ready, I can’t go back, not now, not like this!” _

_ “I thought you would have learned by now,” Death sighs, “but I suppose we’ll have to try again.” _

* * *

He wakes roughly, limbs flailing, his first breath so harsh it feels like his lungs are splitting right open. Someone’s at his side, trying to hold him steady, but he shrugs them off and clumsily gets to his feet, noticing that the ground beneath him is solid and flat, and somehow, he’s inside. 

Then, Murphy raises his head, and looks out the window. “I’m in space?” he whispers, looking into a pitch black sky full of stars. Below them is a burning planet, that he supposes has to be Earth. 

“Yeah,” someone behind him says. He turns, only to see Bellamy. “We’re in the prisoner’s ship.”

It comes back to Murphy, then, the way that he died and the mass of bodies all around him that are now burning alone with the world he called home. Tears prick at his eyes and he turns away, quickly, biting his lip and staring out the window. Somewhere, down below, Roscoe is burning. It seems silly to fixate on a horse after everything that’s happened, but he can’t help it. Roscoe was his only friend for six years, and now he is gone, and for that, he mourns. 

_ One, two, three bullets in his chest.  _

The feeling of being ripped apart returns to him and he gasps, holding his chest though there is no wound there. He feels as though he’s back in the Grounder’s village, being torn to pieces at the hands of Finn’s gun all that time ago. He was different, then, or so he thought, but that horrible feeling still remains. He was a fool for thinking he could change. 

Planet Earth is burning to a crisp, all because he didn’t do enough to save it. He’s never been anything more than an angel of death. 

“Murphy?” Bellamy says, softly. When he doesn’t reply, he keeps going. “After he - after you died, McCreary armed the bomb. I carried you back to the ship. All of our friends made it. Most of Wonkru...wasn’t so lucky.”

He can’t hide it. The anger is burning at him, bubbling beneath his skin, and he can’t contain it any longer. “You had no right,” he whispers, though he’s sure Bellamy hears him. 

“What?”

“You had no right,” he repeats, whirling around to face him. “You wanted to invade the valley, and look where that got us. You had no right to make decisions like that about my  _ home _ !”

“Murphy, I-”

“It doesn’t matter,” he says, quickly cutting him off. “It’s done. It doesn’t matter.”

Bellamy’s quiet for a moment. “I thought,” he says, but then his voice gives out and he has to try again. “I thought I was your home.”

Murphy’s whole body grows cold.  _ Say yes,  _ his heart screams at him.  _ You know that it’s true. Say you’re sorry, say yes, and forget all about this.  _ But then there are bullets in his chest once more, and people are screaming as they die, and he needs someone to be angry at and McCreary made sure he wouldn’t be around to bear those consequences. “Six years is an awfully long time,” Murphy says. He’s frightening himself, the way his voice sounds so flat and uncaring. “Maybe you can forget that, but I can’t.”

He doesn’t give him a chance to respond. Instead, Murphy brushes past him, walking through the hallways of the ship until he finds an unoccupied room that he enters, quickly shutting the door behind him and trying to slow both his breath and his heart. 

Murphy can’t. Instead, he sinks to the floor and cries. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, so...quick note...i haven't seen s5 in a million years and remember about 0.2% of it. and with the divergence being so great at this point (octavia not being bloodreina, no madi, no echo, etc) most of the s5 plot just...wouldn't happen. so that's why things are SO different. i hope you enjoyed the route it took anyways and rolled with it!
> 
> thank you, for real, for reading. and a HUGE thank you to everyone who has been leaving such lovely comments and kudos, i can't express the way it makes me go absolutely insane with the love i feel. so thank you. i really do feel very loved i appreciate all your kind words <3 as always i'm on twitter @reidsnora :)


	16. that at my death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sweare by thy selfe, that at my death thy sonne  
> Shall shine as she shines now, and heretofore;  
> And, having done that, Thou haste done;  
> I feare no more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i want to give a shoutout to charlie (blueparacosm on here, slugcities on twitter) for their meta thread on murphy in a leadership role. i took a lot of inspiration from that for this chapter, so please give it a read here: https://twitter.com/slugcities/status/1248456319343816708

Murphy’s not sure how much time passes before there’s a knock on the door. He’d stopped crying what feels like hours ago, and since then he’d just been sitting on the floor of the empty room on the prisoner’s ship, trying to cope with and process everything that had happened. 

He ignores the knock at first, but then the person tries again, much louder this time. This alone is enough evidence that Bellamy’s not the one at the door, so he sighs. He debates getting up, but decides that his aching bones are not yet strong enough to hold him upright. Instead, he reaches up and back until his hand lands on the doorknob, and staying seated, he turns it. Murphy opens the door, slowly, and can’t help the way his eyes widen ever so slightly when he’s greeted by the last person he would have expected to see. 

“Hi,” Octavia says, smiling down at him. “Mind if I join you?”

Murphy shrugs, dropping his hand back down into his lap. He’s got no issue with her. Truthfully, he doesn’t even  _ know _ her. She takes his silence as acceptance, and steps inside, gently closing the door behind her. For a moment, she just stares at him, but then she sits down, too, leaning her back against the wall opposite him. 

“So,” he says, desperate to break the tension. It seems that even after six years of isolation, he’s still uncomfortable with silence. “What can I do for you?”

Her expression doesn’t change. She appears completely relaxed, despite their situation and everything that she herself had gone through in those six years. It’s a wonder, he thinks, that she’s able to keep up appearances after seemingly giving all of herself to lead people that didn’t want to be led, only to lose them all moments after gaining freedom. “Nothing,” she says.

He chuckles, dryly. “Nothing? Well, that’s a new one.”

“What do you mean?”

His lips purse, though he finds his guard lowering. He’s got no reason to lie to her. “Most people want something from me,” he says. “I thought that might change after six years. I don’t think it has.”

She nods in understanding, and he realizes that out of anyone on board this ship, she probably relates to that the most. “I just spent that whole time making decisions for twelve hundred people,” she says. “By the end of it, most of them hated me, yet they all wanted things from me. It never gets any easier.”

Murphy bites back a sarcastic comment, and instead studies her for a moment. It’s true that she appears relaxed, but beneath her forced demeanour he can see the cracks that are starting to show. She’s far thinner than any person should be, and though she’d always been pale, her skin looks ghostly. They’re fading, but there are rings around her eyes, evidence that she both hasn’t slept and has recently been crying. He could point out all of these things to her, and force her to leave him alone, but - he doesn’t want to be the person that isolates himself, not anymore. “I’m sorry about what happened to your people,” he says, instead. 

She looks at the ground for a moment, but then nods. “Thank you,” she says. “I’m sorry about what happened to you, too, Murphy.”

It takes everything he has not to laugh. “Yeah,” he says, “I’ve heard that a lot over the years, too.”

Somehow, she grins. “That never gets any easier, either.”

He hums. “No,” he says in agreement, “it never does.”

Silence falls on them again, but this time, he doesn’t mind so much. It takes him a while to realize that she’s staring at him, probably studying him in the same way he’d just done to her. “You know,” she says, “I thought about you a lot.”

“I’m flattered, but-”

“Not like that,” she says, cutting him off, though they’re both smiling. “No, I thought a lot about the moment I saw you come back to life for the first time, back after what Finn did at that village.”

Murphy grimaces, feeling the bullets tear his chest to pieces for a second, remembering the way he’d had to reveal the truth about his abilities to his friends without getting a say in the matter. “That was a long night,” he says, quietly.

“It was,” she agrees, nodding. “I kept that memory close, during my time in the bunker, just - just so I could remember that anything was possible, you know? It gave me hope.”

“Hope,” he repeats, a little stunned. He’s thought about his ability a lot of ways, but he’s never once connected it with  _ hope.  _ “Well - I’m glad.”

She smiles, eyes sparkling. “Also, the look on Bellamy’s face that night? Priceless.”

He tries to smile, truly, he does, but when she says Bellamy’s name both his heart and face fall. “I scared him,” he says, quietly, and he knows deep down that he’s probably still frightened. 

Octavia doesn’t seem fazed by his reaction to her words. “My brother means well,” she says, her voice soft. “He may not always show it, but he does.”

“I know,” he says, and he truly does, but, “he also destroyed my home.”

“We all did that - but I understand. I do.” Octavia sighs, shutting her eyes for a minute and leaning her head back against the wall. “You know - this might sound insane, but I’m really going to miss it.”

“Miss what?”

“The Earth,” she says. “It was good to me.”

He nods, a bittersweet smile on his face. “It was good,” he agrees, and he knows he’s really going to miss it, too. 

“Then again,” she continues, slowly, “I did spend seventeen years underneath a floor, so - my standards aren’t that high.”

Murphy’s stunned, for a moment, but then he makes eye contact with her and at the same time, they laugh. They laugh, and they laugh, and they laugh, and somehow, when it’s all said and done, he doesn’t hurt as much anymore. 

* * *

Many hours later, he’s cried out all the tears he has to spare and he’s joined some of the others in the main control room of the ship. Monty, Raven, and Emori are sitting at the controls, each of them exhausted, but still working to decipher as much about the ship as they can. Bellamy leans against a chair, never actually sitting in it. Clarke and Lexa sit off to the side, close to each other, both only staying upright because of the other’s support. Towards the door, Jasper reclines against the frame, there for no other reason than to observe. Octavia sits on the floor in the corner. She’s absentmindedly spinning a small knife in her left hand, paying no attention to any of the rest of them. 

Murphy stands by the viewport, staring out at the space all around them. He doesn’t know why he’s been invited to this meeting - he supposes it’s out of sympathy, more than anything else. Still, he stands, and doesn’t fight it. The Earth burns below him. This time around, he’d like to do everything he can to prevent history repeating for a fourth time. 

“So what’s the situation?” Bellamy asks, behind him. Murphy turns his head for a second, seeing how tense and tired he looks, and how he never stops leaning against the chair like it’s the only thing keeping him from falling to the ground. Maybe it’s selfish, but Murphy would rather keep staring at the burning Earth than keep looking at him like that, so he turns away. 

“There are one hundred and sixty-three surviving Wonkru members,” Octavia says. She’s speaking softly, and Murphy bets she’s never taking her eyes off her knife, yet the room stills to let her talk. “Lincoln and Jackson are looking after the wounded, but some might not make it. All the prisoners are dead. Adding us, that makes one hundred and seventy-two surviving members of the human race.”

Once, a long time ago, Murphy had learned the Earth once held upwards of eight billion people. It’s hard to believe that all that’s left of all those people is barely enough to fill up half of one ship. “What about the Earth?” Bellamy asks. It hadn’t seemed possible, but his voice has grown even weaker. 

Monty sighs. “Based on these readings,” he says, slowly, “it’s uninhabitable for at least the next ten years.”

_ Ten years isn’t so bad,  _ Murphy thinks, but he feels the collective tension that weighs on the others’ shoulders. They all spent the last six years with no access to the sun, and the more he thinks about it, the more horrific that sounds. 

“Ten more years of space,” Jasper says, whistling quietly, echoing Murphy’s very sentiment. “Piece of cake.”

Raven spins around in her chair, glancing once at Emori for support before speaking up. “About that,” she says, “I think we have a way around it.”

“A way around time?” Bellamy asks, no more than a whisper. 

“Exactly,” Raven says. “Cryosleep. This ship has close to a thousand cryo-pods in it, all of them functional. Think of it like suspended animation, where we won’t age. In ten years, we’ll wake up, and then we can go back down to Earth again.”

Silence falls on the room. Murphy’s expecting Bellamy to speak up, in favour or against the plan, but he never does. It gets to the point that he turns around, away from the burning planet below him, to see what’s going on. When he does, he immediately wishes he hadn’t, because he knows this is a sight that will forever be burned into his mind. 

Bellamy’s defeated. Slowly, he sinks into the chair, eyes and mind heavy. As Murphy scans the room, looking at each of them, something that never occurred to him becomes very, very clear, though it takes him a second to figure out what to do with this information. 

Before, after the dropship had landed and they’d all been forced down to Earth, Clarke had been their leader. She’d been a natural in the position, and while he’d harboured some negativity towards her, with hindsight he knows they’d all be dead without her. Yet, after the lab and everything that had happened with Lexa, he realizes that she’d given that up. Maybe she got tired of having the weight of the world on her shoulders, maybe she’d learned how to settle in her skin with the love of her life, or maybe it was a bit of both, but she was no longer the leader because she’d chosen not to be. 

On the Ring, it’s clear that Bellamy had assumed that position. He, too, is a natural leader, but Murphy knows he lacks confidence about it. Maybe it was easier, up in space, when the consequences weren’t dire. Yet, despite going six years strong, he’s carrying the weight of their defeat in the chasm all on his own. He knows, too, that Bellamy’s never quite gotten over the loss of Arkadia and their people then. Regardless of how everyone else feels, Bellamy believes himself to be a failure, and as such, is refusing to lead them. 

Octavia’s been a leader for years on end, but she is tired, and much like Clarke, she yearns to retreat from that spotlight. After her exile years prior, he knows Lexa’s long since sworn it off. Nobody else in the room has held that position, nor do they have any desire to, this much is clear. 

Murphy doesn’t either, but - he’s also tired of having all his decisions made for him. Death stands at his heels whether he likes it or not. Maybe it’s time he started to give the orders. “We should do it,” he says. He waits for the others to slowly bring their eyes over to him, surprised that he’s the one to speak up. “I don’t know about you, but I’d like to get back to Earth as fast as possible.”

“A ten year nap,” Jasper says, from the doorway. His arms are crossed, but he’s smiling. “Sounds great to me.”

No one else has any objections, so Raven nods, turning back to the controls. “It should be all ready to go,” she says. “Give us an hour, and then it’s go time.”

“I’ll tell Lincoln to get everyone ready,” Octavia says, tapping her knife against the floor and then standing, giving Murphy a quick look of approval before leaving. 

Jasper leaves the room, as does Clarke. Lexa’s quick to follow, but before she does so, she gives Murphy one quick hug, her hair swinging as she pulls him in close and then separates. He’s still not used to seeing her without her regal armour or braids, but despite all that and despite what they’d just gone through, she seems happy - content, even. “I’m proud of you,” she says, quietly, and then she, too, leaves. 

Raven, Emori and Monty all busy themselves checking over system diagnostics, so Murphy supposes there isn’t much of a point in him sticking around. He walks towards the door, the burning Earth at his back, and he’s almost made it to the hallway outside when a soft breath and the creak of a turning chair stop him. 

“Murphy,” Bellamy says, “thank you.”

He doesn’t turn around. Instead, he puts a hand on the wall to steady himself, tapping his fingers absentmindedly against the doorframe. “Don’t worry about it, Bellamy.”

“I’m sorry.”

It wasn’t too long ago, he thinks, that their positions were switched. He’s not proud of it, but he used to blame Bellamy for what he’d done all that time ago -  _ just ask me to come with you, and I’ll say yes,  _ he’d thought, back when it was Bellamy at the door and he was trapped inside. Bellamy had said nothing, and he’d harboured anger about that. All he’d wanted was for him to say something. Now that he’s the one who’s upright, he realizes it’s not quite that easy. 

“I know,” is all he says, and then he walks out the door. It’d be fine, he thinks, if Bellamy were to follow him. It’d be fine - maybe, deep down, a part of him wants him to.

Bellamy doesn’t get up. Murphy doesn’t turn around. 

* * *

His cryopod is right next to Bellamy’s. Someone has done this on purpose, but Murphy doesn’t waste energy fighting this. There are bigger battles to obsess over, both in his memories and in his future. 

Bellamy’s laying on the bed of the cryopod, his hands clasped across his chest. He’s breathing deeply, over and over again, as if he’s trying to psyche himself up to actually start the pod up and enter cryosleep. Murphy doesn’t say anything as he, too, lays down, taking one breath to steady himself. 

He’s about to reach up and press the button that engages the pod, but then he hears Bellamy breathe in once more, and his hand lays still at his side. “Raven programmed these,” he says, softly. “They’ll work just fine.”

Bellamy looks over, his surprise at being spoken to showing in his eyes for just a moment. “I know,” he replies. “It’s just - hard to give up control to something I don’t understand.”

It takes everything he has not to laugh. “I get that,” he says. 

“I suppose,” he says, slowly, “you get that better than anyone.”

Murphy nods. He’s confident that if he looked close enough at the shadows, Death would be lurking. Surprisingly, Jaha’s words float into his mind, and he has to take a second to marvel at how much everything has changed. “You just have to have a little faith, I guess.”

Bellamy tries to smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I really am sorry, you know. I just - I need you to know that.”

And - he knows. He does. At this moment, as all his friends are entering cryosleep around them, he feels no resentment in his heart, not towards him. Bellamy’s not a killer or omen of death, not like he is. He’s just someone who tried to do the right thing the wrong way. He made a mistake. Murphy’s made far too many of those to even count at this point - he’s the last person who should be passing judgement. 

He looks over, meeting Bellamy’s gaze. The rest of the room falls away, and it’s just the two of them, together in this moment. Murphy thinks it would be nice for it to always feel this easy. Maybe, one day, they could have that. “Ten years is an awfully long time,” he whispers. “Things might be different.”

Bellamy looks at him, staring deep into his soul, and then he smiles. This time, his eyes sparkle, too. “See you then,” he says, and then he reaches up, pressing the button to activate his pod. The bed slides into its slot in the wall. Silently, the glass covering appears, and the panel above the pod activates.  _ Bellamy Blake,  _ it reads, as simple as that. 

Murphy’s about to do the same and activate his own pod, but then he looks to the right and sees Monty staring at him. He smiles softly, giving a little wave. 

He’s not sure why, but Monty’s looking at him strangely, almost wistfully. “Good luck,” he says. 

“No luck required,” Murphy replies. “Just like Jasper said - a ten year nap. Aren’t you looking forward to it?”

He pauses. “Sure.”

There’s something he’s not saying, but Murphy’s never been one to press. “Well, goodnight, then.”

Monty chuckles, his gaze warm. “Goodnight, Murphy,” he replies. “For what it’s worth - I wish we had spent more time together.”

He’s not expecting that, so a grin falls onto his face before he can stop it. “Plenty of time for that ten years from now, right?”

“Right,” Monty replies. 

Murphy’s not sure what to do to end the moment, so he winks, clicking his tongue as he reaches up and presses the button. The last thing he sees before both the pod and his eyes slide shut is the image of Monty laughing. 

He doesn’t know it, and he never will, but he enters cryosleep with the grin still on his face. 

* * *

_ It’s quiet. _

_ All around him, the air is still, but he’s not frightened. It’s a comforting kind of stillness that envelops him. He may be in the darkness, but the darkness is far from suffocating - no, for perhaps the first time in his life, he feels completely content. He wonders if this is what heaven is designed to be.  _

_ It’s quiet, and he lays still, and then -  _

There’s a small click that sounds from somewhere above him. The darkness fades away and he’s sliding, his eyes opening gently as the interior of the ship’s cryochamber greets him. Murphy hums, the feeling in his limbs slowly and gently returning. If this were what it felt like to come back to life, he thinks, he wouldn’t mind it so much. 

Slowly, he props himself up on his elbows, gazing around at the room. He waits for the other pods to start opening, too, so he can greet his friends again, even though it doesn’t feel like any time has gone by at all. Already, he’s thinking about what joke he’ll tell when Bellamy’s pod slides open.  _ Long time, no see,  _ he’ll say, and then he’ll make a big show of standing up.  _ These old bones aren’t what they used to be, huh?  _ His eyes will roll, but it will all be worth it to see him smile, and to clear the air between them. 

Bellamy’s pod, though, doesn’t open. In fact, as he looks around the room, he realizes none of them are. He’s the only one awake. “No,” he mutters, under his breath, swinging his legs off the bed of the cryopod and standing up. Terror strikes his heart, for a moment, as he thinks he’s been woken too early, and now, he’ll be stuck all alone in space. 

He’s distracted, staring down the endless rows of cryopods, so he doesn’t hear the footsteps creep up behind him. “Wow,” a voice says, and instantly Murphy turns, eyes landing on the stranger. 

“Who are you?” Murphy says, staring him up and down. The newcomer looks only slightly younger than he himself is, and while Murphy’s sure he’s never seen him before, there’s a certain shine in his eyes that he recognizes. 

For a few seconds, he doesn’t answer, and just stares at Murphy, grinning all the while. “Sorry,” he blurts out suddenly, as if finally realizing the tension in the situation. “I’m just - it’s really cool to see you. Like, in person, you know. I’m Jordan.”

“Jordan,” Murphy repeats, trying to hide the true confusion he feels. 

“Yeah,” he replies, “Monty and Harper’s son.”

And then, he gets it. The shine in his eyes, the familiarity in his grin - in many ways, he’s a spitting image of Monty. It makes perfect sense, and he relaxes, but then he’s left with a thousand more questions. “I’m Murphy.”

“I know,” Jordan says, quickly. “My parents told me all kinds of stories about their adventures on Earth. I just want to say, I think it’s  _ super _ cool what you can do. I mean, immortality? That’s insane!”

He can’t help it - he, too, starts to grin. “Thank you,” he says, slowly. “It’s - something, for sure. Now, um, why am I the only one awake?”

The excitement leaves Jordan’s face, and his lips purse. “Dad left specific instructions,” he says. “Wake Murphy first, and play him the message.”

_ Why me?  _ Murphy thinks, but he leaves these concerns unspoken. Instead, he starts fixating on the one main realization. “Monty and Harper,” he says, “they never went to sleep, did they?”

Jordan sighs. “They always talked about their time on the Ring,” he explains. “I think they wanted to go back to that.”

This is leading to another question, one that he’s not sure he wants the answer to. “How long have we been asleep?”

“Give or take a few,” he replies, “One hundred and twenty-five years.”

He blinks. “What?”

Jordan only nods, gesturing towards the door leading out of the cryo room and towards the bridge of the ship. “Come on,” he says. “I’ll play you that message.”

Murphy nods, slowly, and then follows Jordan out of the room. As the two of them walk down the hallway and enter the bridge, he feels genuine sadness in his chest at the loss of two of his friends, even if he didn’t know them terribly well, but he feels some relief, too. He’s glad that they found their peace, and really, he can’t blame them for that. 

In silence, Jordan leads him over to the main screen, and then presses a few buttons, turning on the monitor. He steps back. A video starts playing on the screen. It takes a few seconds for anything to happen, but then, Monty enters the frame. 

Murphy’s too stunned at first to really listen to what he’s saying, but he recovers quickly, doing his best to focus. It’s a videolog, he realizes, that Monty and sometimes Harper updated every few years with updates. It’s nice to see them so happy and content. It’s nice to realize a life like that is possible. 

He watches as their life unfolds in front of him. There’s the birth of their son, the ten year anniversary of them going into cryosleep coming and going, and then, the day that they put Jordan into cryosleep, too.  _ “Jasper, if you’re watching this, I’m sorry for leaving without telling you,”  _ Monty says at this point in the video.  _ “But also, thank you. You taught me the value of kindness and peace. I hope that my son is a reminder of that for you, too.” _

The next clip jumps many, many years. Monty’s elderly, at this point, and Murphy watches as he slowly sits down in the chair in front of the camera.  _ “Harper died today,”  _ he says. Murphy knew this was coming, but still, his heart sinks. 

_ “We had a good life,”  _ Monty continues.  _ “I hope that you all do, too. Now, Murphy - if you’re watching this, it means things went according to plan. Here is the simple truth - Earth is gone. It will never be survivable again. But I finally made it through all the Eligius logs, and I found another destination.”  _

At this point, Jordan smiles, and then steps forwards and presses another button. Murphy watches as the covering of the large window slides down, and he steps forwards as he once again is able to catch a glimpse of space. Monty’s voice continues behind him, but for a moment, he’s transfixed as the image of a large planet greets him. It’s larger than Earth had seemed, yet it’s just as blue. There are two suns, off on the other side of the planet, but this is not the part he’s enraptured in. No - he’s staring at a planet that, for once, is very much alive. 

_ “The Eligius III went looking for another planet to take resources from,”  _ Monty’s voice continues from the video. Murphy listens, but he doesn’t tear his eyes away from the sight below him.  _ “I set the coordinates a week ago. If I’m right, you should get there in seventy-five years.” _

“We got here,” Murphy whispers, though he doubts even Jordan is listening. “You always were right.”

_ “Can you see it?”  _ Monty asks, seventy-five years ago.  _ “Is it beautiful? It is in my dreams.” _

One of the two suns is sitting just below the curve of the planet, illuminating the whole sphere in a halo of light. Murphy bites his lip to keep from crying, but a tear rolls down his cheek anyway. “Yes,” he says. “It is.”

_ “Murphy,”  _ Monty continues,  _ “I wanted to wake you first because - well, I think you’re the only one who can really do this. You can lead these people to their new home. I saw, before you went into cryosleep, that you were ready to do that. People listen to you. You’re a true leader, even if you don’t know it.”  _ He pauses, and then,  _ “I trust you. I know that you’ll do this.” _

Murphy doesn’t know what to say. He bites his lip even harder. 

_ “I know I’ve done things wrong,”  _ Monty says.  _ “What happened in the lab, the role I played in that, and then in the failed invasion of the valley - they’re my biggest regrets. I hope you learn from my, and our, mistakes. I think you already have. So, please, Murphy - do better than we did before. Be the good guy. And - may we meet again.”  _

“May we meet again,” he whispers. 

He stares down at the planet, the weight of one hundred and twenty-five years falling off his back. It’s not just a planet he’s looking at - it’s a fresh start, being handed to him on a silver platter. There’s a lot he can do with this, but as Monty’s words replay over and over in his mind, he knows exactly what must be done.  _ Do better _ \- he can do that. 

Murphy wipes the tears from his eyes, and then turns back to Jordan. “Well,” he says, “I guess we’ve got some people to wake up, huh?”

* * *

In the end, he doesn’t wake everybody. They still don’t know if the planet will work in the long run, and with the surviving members of Wonkru still in turmoil, he doesn’t want to risk it. No, he wakes up only seven, and soon he’s standing in the bridge with Bellamy, Raven, Emori, Clarke, Lexa, Octavia, Jasper, and Jordan.  


He plays them the video. He’s there for them when they cry as they watch Monty and Harper’s life pass by, and then as they, too, stare at the planet below. He’s there as Raven works with Jordan to pilot the ship down to the surface of the planet once it’s deemed safe, and he’s there as they gear up and get ready to explore what may be their new home. 

He does all this, but he feels restless. Now that Murphy’s older and wiser and has stopped trying to deny the causes of his emotions, he knows why - he doesn’t get a chance to talk to Bellamy until they’re standing in the ship’s hangar, waiting to step out onto the planet. 

“One hundred and twenty-five years,” he says, standing close to Bellamy’s side and hoping he doesn’t mind. “Awfully long time, huh?”

He’s relieved when Bellamy grins. “Terribly long,” he agrees, and then after a pause, “Is anything different?”

Murphy nods, staring straight and watching the hangar bay door slowly slide down. Sunlight streams into the ship and they all have to shield their eyes. “It seems so,” he says, and then with a grin, he moves to the front of the group. 

Octavia, surprisingly, is already there. “Ready?” she asks him. 

“You were the first person on the ground when the dropship landed,” he reminds her in response. “You want to repeat that?”

A slow smile dawns on her face. It’s a good memory for her, he can tell. “Absolutely,” she whispers, and then as the hangar door hits the ground and the walkway is clear, she steps out and lifts her chin towards the sky, breathing in the fresh air. 

He does, too, and then he follows her out, leading the rest of them onto the ground. Upon first glance, it looks a lot like Earth. There’s lots of green, sprawled out all around them, and the dirt ground beneath them is soft yet sturdy. If he didn’t know any better, he’d have thought they’d never left their home planet. The nostalgia that ignites in his chest doesn’t hurt, though - it reminds him of peace. 

“Come on,” he says, to the group. “Let’s see what we’re working with.”

They walk through the forest path for a while, finding no sign of civilization. Murphy doesn’t mind this - if the Eligius III mission never made it here, then they can start from scratch. Still, he tries his best to stay vigilant. The trees are drooping lower as they go on, obscuring his vision, but they make it through without any problems. It’s not until he pushes aside some low-hanging leaves at the edge of the forest that he lowers his guard. 

In front of them is a beach like he’s never seen before. The sand sinks beneath his boots as he steps onto it, and the red-tinted sky above them reflects against the crystalline blue water that stretches out as far as he can see. “Wow,” someone says, and Murphy agrees. 

_ Do better.  _ Monty’s words ring in his ears. As he stands on the beach, he thinks he understands what that truly means. He scans the edges of the clearing once more, verifying that they are truly alone, and then without any more hesitation he drops both his gun and his pack, pulling off his boots and his shirt as he walks towards the water. 

“Murphy!” Bellamy calls from behind him, but he’s undeterred. 

He dives into the water with a  _ splash.  _ True euphoria rushes over his skin as he stays below the surface for several seconds, feeling freedom in all his movements. Here, there are no restraints. 

Finally, he resurfaces. During the time he’d been beneath the waves, Bellamy’s approached, and now he’s standing where the sand meets the water. “Come on in,” Murphy says. Hesitantly, Bellamy reaches out, but then Murphy grows impatient and he grabs Bellamy’s hand, pulling him into the water before he can fight him on it. 

Bellamy splashes around for a second, and then he finds his footing, a wicked grin coming onto his face. “Oh, I’m going to get you for that.”

“Just try it, Blake,” Murphy teases, and then Bellamy splashes him back and he cries out, throwing his head back into a laugh that could be heard for miles all around. 

It’s nice, he thinks, to feel this happy and content. It’s nice, and as he stares, completely enamoured by Bellamy’s smile, he knows that a life like this is possible. 

* * *

They spend the night on the beach and sleep around a small fire, but in the morning, they continue on their exploration. As he leads them across the unfamiliar terrain, Murphy feels truly vibrant. There’s a lightness to his step that he’s never felt before, and an ease in his chest that he supposes can only be described as  _ joy.  _

Around midday, they approach what looks like a large clearing, and it’s then that they hear it. It starts as a faint echo, one that Murphy’s not even sure he heard, but then he hears it again. He holds up a hand, and the group stops, and he listens, just as the sound fills his ear again. 

“Children,” he says, looking behind his shoulder at his friends incredulously. “Do you hear that? It’s children laughing.”

They pause, and then nod as the laughter sounds once again. “There are people here,” Raven says, her eyes wide. “Eligius III must have made it after all.”

“Surely they saw us land the ship,” Lexa points out, adjusting her gun. “They must know we are here.”

Murphy nods, biting his lip as he thinks over his options for a couple seconds, and then he shrugs. “They might,” he says, “but we can’t exactly  _ not _ say hello, right?”

Nobody voices disagreement. With a deep breath, Murphy walks into the clearing, and sees a castle. 

He blinks, just to ensure that he’s not hallucinating, but in front of him is a large castle built into a hill. It’s designed just as the olden Earth ones were, that Murphy himself had only seen in storybooks back on the Ark. In front and beside the castle are several smaller buildings. Just a few yards in front of them is a set of stone steps, leading up to a courtyard that ties the whole scene together. 

What truly shakes him, though, is the amount of people. Children run around the circular courtyard, continuing to laugh just as they heard before. Older adults go about their business around them, moving from building to building, stopping to talk to each other as if it’s just any other day. For them, Murphy supposes, it is. 

He’s not sure what to do, but he’s saved from making this decision when one child locks eyes with him and slowly approaches the steps. He does his best to smile and appear non-threatening as she descends them, her long red hair blowing in the wind. “Hello,” she says, with an amount of grace and composure that seems odd for a child to have. 

“Hi,” he says, but he isn’t able to get another word out. Just as he speaks, several people come rushing towards them. They’re all dressed in dark, robed uniforms, and each one of them carries a weapon that looks close to a spear. He guesses they must be guards or some kind of police. 

“Protect the host!” one of them yells, and they rush down the stairs, putting themselves in between him and the child. 

Murphy’s not sure what this means, but he remembers that they are the trespassers here, and he does his best not to question it. “Hi,” he tries again, and then realizes he made no plan for this situation. “Um - we come in peace?”

“Who are you?” one of the guards snaps at him. He notices that another is leading the child that had approached him up the stairs and far away from them all. 

“We’re from Earth,” he says. “Our ship landed just yesterday - you might have seen it?”

The guards exchange a look, but before they can say anything, someone calls out from above them in the courtyard. “Let me pass!” the voice says, demanding so much attention that Murphy, too, is drawn to look at who’s approaching. The crowd parts instantly, revealing a tall man flanked by two guards of his own. He’s wearing a longer robe that appears more ceremonial than functional, and by his poise and the way he carries himself, Murphy’s pretty sure he’s looking at the leader of these people. 

The man descends the steps, coming to a stop in front of Murphy. He’s never felt quite so short. “Hello,” is all Murphy can manage to say. 

“My name is Russell,” he says. “I am the leader of the Primes here on Sanctum.”

Murphy figures the planet must be called Sanctum, but the other part of his sentence doesn’t make sense. “The Primes?”

Russell smiles tightly. “Yes, the twelve of us do our best to lead this planet into the light.”

“I see,” he says, deciding it would be best not to question too much too soon. “Well - I’m Murphy. We all come from Earth.”

At this, Russell raises an eyebrow. “Earth? In that case - I do hope you’re hungry. We were just about to have a meal.”

Murphy smiles, relieved. “We’d be-”

He doesn’t get a chance to finish. “Lock the rest of them up!” Russell calls to his guards, and in seconds, they’re being swarmed by them as the numerous guards grab his friends and start dragging them off. 

“Wait,” he tries, “we haven’t done anything wrong!”

“Come with me, Murphy,” Russell says, ignoring his pleas. With that, he turns and walks up the steps, giving Murphy no option but to follow and watch helplessly as the rest of his friends are taken somewhere else. 

Maybe this isn’t going to be as easy as he thought. 

* * *

Russell takes him into the castle, which is just as elegant inside as it is out. Whoever built it had clearly taken great care, as every single detail seems purposeful. He’s so transfixed by it that he barely notices when Russell leads him into another room with four other people already in it. 

“Murphy,” he says, gesturing to each person in turn, “this is my wife, Simone. This is Priya, and her son, Ryker - and this is Kaylee.”

Old Earth customs fill his head, and he reaches out a hand to shake each person’s in turn. Simone and Priya both accept his gesture and shake his hand warmly. Ryker and Kaylee, however, appear less than thrilled to meet him. “Forgive them,” Russell says quietly, speaking only to him. “Ryker has never been... _ interested  _ in politics, and Kaylee lost her brother Daniel only days previous.”

He nods, the dynamics of their political situation making more sense to him. The ‘Primes’ that Russell mentioned before must be some kind of council, and as every person here had some kind of familial connection to another Prime, the seats were most likely given by lineage. It’s reminiscent of how old Earth kingdoms decided leadership, which he supposes fits with the castle. 

“Thank you for inviting me here,” he says, taking a seat at the large table in the room when Russell invites him to do so. As the others sit as well, several people dressed in white robes step inside, each holding platters of food. 

“Of course,” Russell says. “Though - you’ve surprised us all. We haven’t had newcomers in quite a long time.”

Murphy nods, looking awkwardly at the people who must be servants or workers of some kind place food on the table. One girl in particular moves from Prime to Prime, holding a platter in her hand of some kind of fruit, taking careful time to cut fresh pieces with a sharp knife and then place it in front of each of them. He feels incredibly out of place. “Well - as I said, we come from Earth.”

“As did...our ancestors,” Russell says, slowly. “What has happened to Earth since they left it?”

“It’s destroyed,” he says, bluntly. “Earth is uninhabitable, so - me and my people, we’ve come seeking a new home.”

“You must understand our hesitation,” Simone says. “There is...a delicate balance in Sanctum. We can’t just let anybody in.”

Murphy nods. “I understand. We’d be more than happy to work out an arrangement that works for everyone.”

Russell nods, considering this. At this point, the girl with the fruit platter has worked her way around the table and is now standing behind him, cutting him a piece. It’s so incredibly awkward for him that he turns, raising a hand to tell her that she doesn’t have to go to such lengths for him, when she seems to trip and stumble forwards, dropping the platter entirely. Her grip on the knife in her left hand stays, though, and as she falls and catches herself on the table, the knife grazes the palm of the hand he’s just raised. 

It’s not a deep or long cut in the slightest, but it catches him by enough surprise that he hisses and pulls his hand back, flipping it over to look at the wound in the light. “I’m so sorry,” the girl is saying, rushing to pick up the platter and clean up her mess. 

Murphy just smiles at her, thinking nothing of it, when he looks back up at the Primes and sees them all staring at him in amazement. “The blood,” Kaylee says, her voice full of awe. “He has the blood.”

He isn’t sure what he means until he looks back at the cut, seeing a few drops of black blood streak across his palm. Wordlessly, Russel slides a small cloth across the table which Murphy takes to clean the blood around the wound, but even as he does this, he knows something in the room has changed. “We call it nightblood,” he says, slowly, wondering if maybe these people had simply never seen it before. 

Russell nods. “I see,” he says. 

“Russell, you know what this means,” Kaylee says, her words urgent. 

“Kaylee, please,” he replies, holding up a hand in warning. Facing Murphy, Russell continues. “You and your friends are more than welcome to stay for the night. How about in the morning, we meet again and discuss an arrangement that works for everyone, yes?”

He’s even more confident that something’s going on that he’s not aware of, but Murphy isn’t in a position where he can fight it. It all happened very quickly, before any of them even had a chance to eat, but he figures the best thing he can do is take what he’s learned back to his friends and work out what to do from there. “Great,” he says. “Thank you.”

Simone ends up leading him to a smaller building near the edges of the courtyard. “There are spare rooms in here,” she says. “Your friends will be here shortly.”

He wants to ask her about their reaction to the nightblood, but then he decides against it, and just nods and smiles. As she leaves, he steps inside the simple building, seeing it consists only of a hallway and several small rooms off of it, each room containing nothing more than two beds and a window. True to her word, thankfully, his friends arrive inside only minutes later. 

Quickly, he tells them what happened. “They reacted to the nightblood very strangely,” he says, glancing at Lexa. “I don’t know why.”

“Maybe they’d never seen it before,” Emori suggests, but he shakes his head. 

“I don’t think that’s it,” he says, “but I didn’t want to press our luck, not right after they let us stay.”

Nobody can argue with that, so with nothing else to do, they divide up the rooms. Murphy steps into the one closest to the front doors, and only seconds after he does so, Bellamy appears at the doorway. “Need a roommate?”

“Oh, ‘need’ is such a strong word,” Murphy says, “but come on in.”

He smiles, walking over to the other bed and sitting down carefully. “Do you think we can make this work?” he asks. “Do you think we’ll be able to make an arrangement with these people?”

Murphy sighs, sitting across from him on the other bed. “Monty asked us to do better,” he says. “So - that’s what I’m going to do. Anything else that happens, we’ll figure it out.”

Bellamy laughs. “I can’t believe  _ you’re  _ the one saying these things, now.”

“Someone’s gotta do it,” he replies, but there’s a point to be made there - years prior, before everything, he never would have had an outlook like that. 

“Well - I think you’re right,” Bellamy says. “We can do better here. I know we can.”

“Yeah,” Murphy agrees, staring out the solitary window in the room. The two suns in the sky fill the air with a faint red tint. It’s far from the cloudless blue sky he’d grown to love back on Earth, but then his gaze meets Bellamy’s and he smiles. This may not be what he expected, but - he can learn to love this, too. 

* * *

At some point in the middle of the night, Murphy grows restless. He’s slept for maybe an hour or so, but now his mind is moving too quickly to even try to rest. Bellamy’s out cold in the other bed, so he does his best to move quietly as he swings his legs off the bed and stands, stepping out of the room and then out of the building entirely. 

All around them, Sanctum is still. The air feels fresh against his skin and he breathes, doing his best to take in everything about this new world. It’s nice here, he thinks. The nature is beautiful, and the people seem kind, even if he doesn’t fully understand their politics or customs. He, and all his friends, had been moving far too fast for far too long. It’d be nice to settle down and simply live. 

He’s so caught up in what’s in front of him, that he doesn’t notice someone sneaking up behind him until it’s too late. “I’m sorry,” a voice says, and though he tries to turn and move away, suddenly a sharp needle is being jammed into his neck and whatever chance he had to fight or run away is gone. 

Almost instantly, his mind grows faint and his limbs stop responding to him. He falls, far from gracefully, but someone’s there to catch him. Before he can register anything that’s happening to him, someone’s picking him up and he’s being carried off somewhere. 

All around him, Sanctum is still. Nobody is coming to save him. 

He tries to scream, tries to do anything but lay there in his captor’s arms, but he can’t. All he can do is blink. He does this once, but suddenly time has passed and he’s somewhere else, being laid down on a cold, metal table. All around him are machines of some kind. He doesn’t know what any of them do, but he has a feeling he’s about to find out. 

Then, his captor steps into view, and he’s greeted with none other than Kaylee Prime. “I’m so sorry,” she says, and if he weren’t lying immobile in a strange room, he might have believed her. “But my brother - he’s last in line, now. Hosts are so few and far between these days, and - you have the blood. I’m so very sorry. You won’t feel pain. I promise.”

Out of her front pocket, she pulls a small chip that’s terrifyingly familiar to him. Carved on the front is an infinity symbol, exactly the same as the one on the Flame. The pieces of the puzzle are coming together, but her next words solidify what’s about to happen. “You won’t feel any pain,” she repeats, convincing herself more than him. “The mind of the host is erased, but the brain is intact. Daniel will have your body, and - you will be doing me, my family, and all our people a great service.”

The science of it doesn’t make sense, but Murphy understands. Somehow, someone’s consciousness is stored on the chip in her hands, and she’s about to put it in his neck after she kills him. By ‘host,’ she means nightblood. Russell had told him that Kaylee had lost her brother only days ago, and he’d given her a new body for him on a silver platter. 

All this time, he’d thought he’d been the only immortal being in the universe, yet here these people are - controlling Death not by innate ability, but by force. A very, very small part of him respects that. 

He’s not afraid of death, but then he realizes - he can’t come back from this. Even if he were to survive, he’d have no body to return to.  _ The mind of the host is erased,  _ she’d said. Did that mean his immortality would die with him? Or was he giving the Primes a body that was, truly, immortal? Would they kill Lexa, too, once they realized she was also a nightblood?

Murphy tries to scream. He blinks, several times, trying to alert her sympathies and force her to stop. There’s no glass covering him, but he feels like he’s back in the radiation chamber in the lab, with no hope and no way to be free. 

“I’m sorry,” Kaylee says, and then another needle is in his neck, and he knows there’s no coming back from this. He realizes he never got a chance to say goodbye to Bellamy, and for this, he mourns. 

All around him, Sanctum is still, and then Murphy is, too. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO...a few things :)
> 
> -first of all, very sorry this took longer than previous updates! without getting into too much detail, my life has kind of been completely flipped this past week and things are...crazy, and for the rest of this month they're only going to get busier. i know this fic is almost done, so i will do my best to get the last two chapters out without too much delay. on that vein, though, i will try not to post chapter 17 before both 17 & 18 are done, as a thank-you to everyone who has been reading. 
> 
> -i hoped you liked the murphy & octavia interaction! she's unfortunately been underutilized in this fic, but i was interested to see how this version of each character would interact. i think they'd get along. 
> 
> -i know sanctum is very different in this au....i thought long and hard about including a red sun toxin scene, but decided that i didn't want to reveal murphy's immortality to the sanctum people too early, and having someone else "die" via the seaweed toxin just didn't really seem to fit the story. also, since so many of the characters that would have been on the ship aren't here, i decided not to include the bit where kaylee & daniel & co. invade the ship. hope that was alright with you all!
> 
> -as always, i am on twitter @reidsnora! please feel free to come say hello anytime. thank you all so much for reading, thank you all so much for the comments that have been left, and i appreciate you all so much! hope you're doing well & staying safe. :)


	17. the angel of death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast,  
> And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed;  
> And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill,  
> And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for this chapter include mentions and depictions of gore, lots of guns, and suicide mentions & descriptions.

_ Murphy dies.  _

_ He dies in the way that always scared him most. Though his immortality had banished most of these thoughts from his mind, he’d always figured that when Death eventually took him for the final time, he’d go out fighting. He never thought it would happen so quickly, and so quietly. Some days he never thought it would happen at all. Yet - he dies, without a way to say goodbye to anyone that he loves. He dies, leaving his friends in trouble and no way to save themselves. He dies afraid. He dies alone.  _

_ Murphy’s dead, for good this time, and everything around him is dark and still until -  _

His eyes open. He blinks, the memory of what happened to him returning. For a moment, he thinks he’s still going to be on that cold, metal table somewhere deep inside Sanctum. Maybe Kaylee changed her mind, or, maybe what she tried to do didn’t work because of who he is. He rolls onto his side, placing his palms on the ground to support himself, only, there is no metallic surface underneath him. Murphy raises his head, looking all around him, and his eyes widen. 

He’s laying on grass. 

For a moment, he stays still, halfway to a sitting position, holding himself up on his forearms. Then, just to confirm, he grasps the ground underneath him, grabbing a clump of the earth in his palm to feel it. He lets it go and it falls, slowly and softly, landing back amidst the green. It’s grass. He’s laying in a field of real, brilliant, beautiful  _ grass.  _

Murphy sits up, raising his head. Light streams into his eyes and it takes a second to adjust, but then he sees the sun, perched in the sky and hanging above his head. He’s outside, then, somehow, except - there’s only one sun in the sky, and it looks very, very familiar. The blue sky marked with only a few fluffy clouds confirms his suspicions. 

Somehow, he’s back on Earth. 

Seconds pass as he sits still. Underneath his palms, the grass still feels soft and fresh, as though it has recently rained and the world around him is rejuvenated and cleaned. The wind moves softly, but not harshly, gently moving the meadow with it in its dance. All around the clearing are trees that dominate their space, but they are not threatening - if anything, they are protectors of the space. It’s Murphy’s favourite kind of weather, and though he knows something is very, very wrong, he feels an odd sense of peace. 

He stands, unsure of what else to do. Only now does he see what he’s wearing. Though he knows he died wearing plain dark clothing, he’s now in a soft, white turtleneck sweater. This, too, feels soft when he feels it in his fingers. A memory flashes in his mind as he looks at the sweater. It’s the same one he used to wear when he once went to the between, before he’d come to terms with his waning mortality. It brought him comfort, then. It doesn’t have the same effect - not anymore. 

Murphy raises his eyes, expecting to see Death somewhere, but he is alone. This doesn’t make any sense. If he’s on Earth, and if he’s dressed this way, then he must be dead, for real, and for good, this time. Yet, Death is nowhere to be found. He turns around, hoping to see something that would give him an answer, and it’s then that he sees it. 

In front of him is the dropship - the very same one that Jaha had sent the original hundred down to Earth in, all those years ago. It’s ugly, standing next to everything else in the meadow. The metal is worn. The paint is peeling. It doesn’t belong there, this is clear, and yet there it stands. 

“Okay,” Murphy whispers to himself, his voice echoing around the empty, windy clearing. “Definitely dead, then.”

He’s sure that one time or another, he must have asked Death what the afterlife looked like. Though Murphy never thought he’d get to experience it one day, in all his fantasies he never imagined it looking like this, yet here he is, locked in a showdown with a hunk of metal that shaped his destiny. He hadn’t known it at the time, but that ship had changed everything. 

He doesn’t want to, but he takes a step forward, and then another, and soon he’s standing in front of the dropship door. It’s already open, beckoning him inside, a single sheet hung in front of the entrance obscuring his view. It’s exactly as he remembers it when he saw it last. 

Hesitantly, and without reason, he reaches out, placing a hand on the side of the ship. As soon as his skin makes contact with the metal, something shifts and he’s - 

_ ‘First son, first to dye,’ carved into the metal. A knife in his hand that he fashioned himself. Mbege standing next to him, laughing about something he said. Wells Jaha walking behind him. “You spelled ‘die’ wrong, geniuses,” he says, and he feels anger and shame. _

Murphy rips his hand away from the metal, blinking as his surroundings come back to him. He remembers that moment. It had been less than a day after they’d come down from the Ark, and he’d spent most of it fashioning his own knife and then carving those words into the metal. He’d been angry, then. He’d wanted revenge for a crime that Wells’ father had committed. 

In the end, both the Jahas met their death, he supposes - both of them technically by his own hand. He’d killed the elder one himself, in perfect vengeance for the floating of his father and the imprisonment of himself. It didn’t bring his father back to life, and it didn’t make him any more whole again, but he hadn’t known that, then. He was just  _ angry.  _

Murphy takes a careful step to the side, studying the outer wall of the dropship carefully. As soon as he had touched the surface before, a perfect memory of that moment had filled his mind. It doesn’t make sense, and he doesn’t understand, but Death is still vacant in the meadow and he thinks he’s got nothing but time. He reaches out, gently placing his palm on another spot on the wall. Instantly, he’s elsewhere. 

_ “If you’re going to kill someone, it’s best not to announce it,” Bellamy says. A powerful, dominating presence. He’s afraid, not of him, but of being found out. A knife against his wrist, a snap, and then his wristband comes tumbling off and hits the forest floor. He’s safe, with Bellamy - or, is he? _

He’d forgotten about that one, until now. Murphy draws his hand away more slowly, this time, shaking his head with disbelief. It’s his memories, then - this much is clear. Somehow, this place is full of them, all of them tied to the physical location in which they happened. Maybe this is the afterlife - maybe this is it. Maybe, for the rest of eternity, all he’s meant to do is wander the recesses of his own mind, studying his past actions and determining where and when he went wrong. 

He knows he’s made a lot of mistakes. He doesn’t need to be reminded of that. Still, with no other viable course of action in front of him, he walks up the ramp of the dropship, pushing the sheet away as he enters. He moves faster, now, armed with the knowledge that the worst he’ll see is a memory. Murphy isn’t scared of what he’s already seen. 

As he moves down the rows, he runs his fingers along the edges of the walls, the seats, and every surface he can touch. Every so often, a memory jumps into his mind, but it leaves just as quickly. 

_ Jasper’s moans fill the air. He’s tired. He’s exhausted. Death hovers over him, all the same. He yells. Monty yells. Later, he cries.  _

_ He meets Raven for the first time. She’s all energy and strength, and he’s nothing of the sort. She talks to him, anyways. There’s a red jacket draped over her shoulders that sticks in his head. She’s kind.  _

_ “You’re forgiven,” Jasper says. An excuse for a crime that was never committed. Gratitude, surging into his heart. Once again, he is left behind.  _

It’s less jarring, the more it happens, but the longer this goes on the more frustrated Murphy becomes. “What’s the point?” he mutters, retracting his hand towards his chest. He’s getting tired of these pointless memories. There doesn’t seem to be a point here. 

Yet - he hasn’t delved too deep, not yet. Every story has a beginning. Maybe this is his. 

The dropship has nothing else to show him, so he leaves. Once he’s outside again, he walks around to the backside of the ship, not wanting to miss anything he’s been meant to find. He still doesn’t know where he is, or what any of this means, but surely it has to mean  _ something.  _ Surely, all of it wasn’t for nothing. 

Yet, the back of the dropship complicates matters even more. Somehow, in one area and one area only, it’s nighttime. In one perfect circle, right outside of the dropship, the sky is pitch black and stars shine above the dirt. The air grows colder, the closer he gets to it, and soon he’s shivering. All around him is the sun, yet right in front of him, it’s close to midnight. 

Murphy hesitates, for a second, and then he steps inside the circle. The memory is strong, throwing him off balance without him even having to touch anything. He falls to his knees, illuminated by the stars, and - 

_ A knife in his hand. Bellamy pinned, underneath him. “How does it feel to be powerless?” he asks. “I want you to feel what I felt. And then - I want you to die.” Hesitation. The search for justice, yet, being unable to find any. Death descending from the sky, a heavy cloak on his shoulders. For the first time but not the last, he becomes Death. There’s anger. There’s power. There’s a search for blood.  _

_ There’s - fear.  _

Murphy crawls out of the circle, gasping for breath that was never stolen. He drags himself free of the night, back underneath the protection of the sun, pausing to recover his sanity. This one had been different. He hadn’t just seen the memory unfold, he’d felt it, too. He’d felt just like he had years ago, when he wanted nothing more than to slit Bellamy’s throat and watch him bleed. 

Rather than dwell on this, Murphy pulls himself to his feet and stumbles away, leaving both the darkness and the dropship behind him. He’s breathing heavily, still feeling the anger and the fear course through his veins. He feels weak, in a way that he hasn’t in a long time, like all the control he’s achieved over his lifetime has been ripped away from him and now he’s young, and empty, and beaten. 

He’s not paying attention, and he stumbles, the toe of his shoe catching over a rock in the dirt. In his haze he reaches forwards blindly to steady himself, his left hand catching the trunk of a tree. For a second, he breathes, but then just as quickly - 

_ The roar of the crowd. A rope around a branch, a rope around his neck. The deafening snap as he goes down. Bellamy’s face, full of regret. The harrowing silence that follows, not because the crowd realizes they’ve done wrong, but because he’s too dead to hear what happens afterwards.  _

Murphy rips his hand away from the tree, but with nothing to steady himself he falls hard onto his hands and knees, gasping for breath with ragged lungs. There’s no rope around his neck, not this time, but it’s hard to convince his body that he’s free. Feelings he’s long since buried and locked away come roaring to the surface, demanding to be heard, and Murphy understands what it must feel like to drown. 

He’s angry. He wants to - he wants to kill them, all of them, for what they did to him. Most of all, he’s angry that they’ve given him this fear to hold onto and never took it back, forcing him to deal with something he’s never figured out himself. He’s - 

“I’m not that person anymore,” he whispers, closing his eyes. His chest aches, but he forces his lungs to slow down and he breathes. “I’m not like that anymore.”

Silence descends, and then just as quickly, it breaks. “I’m sorry,” a voice behind him says. 

Murphy goes still, recognition dawning on him. He thinks he knows that voice. He’s pretty sure he could recognize it anywhere, but why would she be here, of all places? Still, he has to know for sure, so he forces himself to get on his knees and then he stands, careful not to touch the trunk of the tree. 

He turns, coming face to face with Charlotte. 

She looks the same as she did the last time he saw her. If anything, she’s cleaner, and more put-together. Her coat is clean, and her hair is braided neatly, framing her face. She’s young, too young, but here, standing in front of him, her eyes seem wise. 

Murphy also knows that she should be dead, but then again, so is he, so he supposes he can’t pass judgement there. 

His curiosity gets the better of him. “Why are you sorry?”

Her brow furrows, and she seems pained. “I just wanted to slay my demons,” she says. “I did what I thought would make me feel better.”

Somewhere, deep down, he understands. “I know,” he says. “I felt like that, once.”

“It didn’t help,” she says. “It didn’t help at all.”

“I know,” he repeats, voice growing softer as he looks down at her. It’s like she’s shrinking before his very eyes. 

“I’m sorry that they hanged you,” she says. “It should have been me.”

This is the part, he guesses, where he’s supposed to agree. He’s supposed to acknowledge that yes, they made a mistake in hanging him and he would have rather seen her tiny body strung up and broken, swaying in the wind with the rope wrapped tight around her neck. This, he thinks, is supposed to make him feel good - after all, it’s vengeance. It’s retribution, and that’s all he’d wanted during his time in the dropship camp, when he’d yelled for them to string up Charlotte and when he’d tried and failed to kill Bellamy. 

Yet, the longer he stares at her, the more he starts to realize. She’s not really here, he knows this much. They’re in his mind, or his afterlife, somehow, so she’s nothing more than a hallucination he’s conjured up. But she’s also more than that. The way she’s speaking, the solutions she’s offering, it’s all oddly familiar. 

It’s as if he’s not speaking to Charlotte at all. It’s as if he’s speaking to himself. 

“No,” he says. “It shouldn’t have. It shouldn’t have been  _ either  _ of us.”

“But-”

“No,” he repeats, more firmly this time. “It was wrong. It shouldn’t have happened at all. But there’s no point dwelling on what  _ should _ have happened, because we can’t change it.”

She pauses, and then, Charlotte smiles. “Okay,” she says in agreement, and then Murphy blinks, and she is gone, vanishing into thin air as if she was never there at all. In a way, he supposes she hadn’t been. 

He sighs, taking another look around. There’s a small path leading further on into a forest. He’s eager to leave the dropship and all that goes with it behind him once more, so he starts walking down it, soon finding himself lost in the trees. Death has yet to make an appearance, and there’s no one else to give him guidance, so he keeps moving forwards. 

There’s not much choice. 

* * *

If this is what it feels like to die, Murphy has to be honest - he thought it would be more exciting. 

As he carries on through the forest, he dwells over several possibilities. He knows that he must be dead. There’s no other explanation as to why he’s here, in a landscape that looks exactly like Earth, and why he’s seeing both memories and people from his past. It could be the afterlife, but this solution doesn’t feel quite right. It could also be that he’s dying, and all this is happening in a split second as his mind is erased and a sudden rush of life passes him by before it’s all over, forever. Still, this doesn’t feel right. The scenery around him is much too real to be indicative of a fleeting life, but then again, how is he to know the difference?

Murphy’s so lost in thought that he doesn’t notice he’s reached a clearing until he’s standing in it. It takes him a second, but then the familiarity of the location hits, and suddenly his throat feels tight and his limbs feel heavy. 

He’s standing in a village. In front of him, in the center of it all, is the body of one Grounder. Blood surrounds their body, a sign that they’ve only just died. Standing over the corpse, gun in hand, is Finn. 

The rest of the village is empty. There is nobody here that he needs to save. Still, he feels afraid. 

All around him, the air hangs heavy. The village is completely silent. Without a word, Finn turns to face him. Murphy swears that his eyes are red, but he doesn’t get a chance to focus on this, because he pulls the trigger  _ one, two, three  _ times. 

There are no bullets, and there is no wound, but Murphy’s chest feels like it’s been shredded and he cries out, stumbling forwards from the shock. This is a different kind of memory, somehow, one that’s caused him nothing but pain. 

“You’re alive,” Finn says, his voice full of malice. His eyes are not red, not really, but they are full of malice. 

Murphy clutches at his chest, but he moves closer. It’s just like Charlotte - he’s not here, not really, just a fragment of a memory or emotion. He knows this, but it doesn’t make him any easier to face. “I am.”

“And I’m not,” Finn snaps, firing the gun off one more time. This time, Murphy’s expecting it, and it doesn’t hurt nearly as much as the other three shots. “How is  _ that _ fair?”

“Maybe,” Murphy says, “it’s because I never killed an innocent kid.” He gestures to the body of the Grounder, a young boy, laying dead on the ground by Finn’s hand. 

To this, Finn only scoffs. “But you’ve killed,” he says. “I killed one - you’ve killed thousands.”

Murphy swallows, roughly, thinking of the hundreds of people in Mount Weather, of all the people of Arkadia, of Jaha, the prisoners, and even Finn himself, to an extent. “I did the best I could.”

“That’s not true,” Finn says, and with a  _ bang _ , the gun fires again. 

Murphy’s on his knees before the shot registers, blood seeping down his shoulder from a bullet that, this time, feels very, very real. “I  _ did _ ,” he repeats, though he’s faltering. 

“I killed one,” Finn says, “and I repented for it. I put in the work. I tried to be better. And what do I get? I burned alive in the fires of Arkadia during the massacre. I screamed as I died and nobody stopped to help me. Did you know that? Did you?”

“No,” Murphy whispers, and with a  _ bang,  _ there’s a bullet in his other shoulder and he cries out. He blinks, and then suddenly, Finn’s an inch away from him, crouching down so that they’re face to face. His gaze is angry. Murphy wants to flinch, or move away, or give up and pass out entirely, but it’s as if he’s rooted to the spot. The ground seems to have swallowed up his knees, and though he tries, he can’t free them. Blood drips onto the dirt from wounds he knows he doesn’t truly have. His eyelids feel heavy, and though he longs to succumb to the darkness just this once, something is keeping him awake. 

“You think you did something here,” Finn says, his voice barely more than a whisper. He’s so close that Murphy can feel his breath. It’s hot against his skin, yet still, he can’t move away from it. “I know you think that you were brave.”

“I saved them all from you,” Murphy replies, but even as he says it, he finds it hard to really believe it. “You would have killed everyone here if I hadn’t stopped you. You killed  _ me _ .”

“Yet you lived,” he says. “You lived, and went on to kill thousands more, and you left me behind to die.”

Murphy thinks he should be crying at this point, but his eyes stay dry. He doesn’t disagree with Finn, not really, but more than anything, he’s tired. “I didn’t live,” he finally says. “I’m dead.”

Finn draws back, seemingly shocked. “Oh, that’s pitiful.”

“What?”

“You still don’t understand anything,” he snaps. “Even after all this time, it’s like you’ve learned nothing. Are you kidding me?”

“I don’t-”

“It doesn’t matter,” he snaps, rising to his feet, but leaving Murphy stuck on his knees in the dirt. “You’re in your mindspace, Murphy. Figure it out.”

Murphy doesn’t get a chance to ask. Finn lowers his gun, lining it up with his forehead, and he fires a shot. 

He lands on his back, staring up at the sun poking through the trees. The blood that had just been coating his sweater is gone. Finn, too, has vanished.  _ You’re in your mindspace,  _ he’d said, but this means nothing to him, and doesn’t answer any of his questions. The best guess he can fathom is that he’s in his own mind, somehow, but the reason as to why he’s being shown these things eludes him. 

Time passes as he does nothing but lie there. It could be seconds, hours or days before he finally gets up and keeps moving, the weight of all the death he’s ever seen heavy on his back. He knows even less than he had when he’d first entered this place, whatever it was, but he does know now that he’s been carrying this weight his entire life, only, it has never been quite so hard. 

He thinks it’s because it’s been years since he felt this afraid and this lonely, at the same time, but he doesn’t have the luxury to dwell on this. Murphy carries onward, because, like always, there isn’t much choice. 

He wishes, more than anything, that he had a choice. 

* * *

Murphy doesn’t know why, but the best he can tell is that the path that he’s on is physically taking him through his memories, because the next clearing he comes across is full of the rubble of Polis. 

It’s best that it’s been destroyed here, he thinks, because he doesn’t know if he’d be able to recover from seeing his former home in prime condition once more. The wound of being run out of the Commander’s tower is one that’s never truly healed, and most likely never truly will. He walks through the rubble of the tower and the buildings that had once surrounded it, running his hand over the broken rocks. 

_ A soft bed. A smile. A feeling of friendship. Companions, home, and security. Drawings, all around him, a reminder of what it feels like to be free. Safety, above all else. Safety, and love.  _

Murphy smiles, wistfully. It’s nice to remember something pleasant, for once. Most of all, it’s nice to remember that he has had nice things, and that life, though fragile, isn’t one misery after another. 

He keeps smiling, until he sees the center of the ruins. There’s a perfect circle of clear ground where no rock or pieces of old buildings have fallen. In the center of the circle, knees deep in the dirt just like his own had been not too long ago, is Thelonius Jaha. 

“Hello, John,” he calls, though he does not move. 

“Nope,” Murphy says, instantly stepping backwards and away from the clearing. “Nope, we’re not doing this, not today.” He’s fresh off his encounter with Finn, and he does not feel like dealing with another one of what must be his own personal demons, especially not one wearing the face of the man he executed. 

But then he turns, and suddenly Jaha’s in front of him, standing knee-deep in the rubble. “John,” he says, his voice calm and collected. “What a pleasure to see you here.”

“Can’t say the same for you,” Murphy says, quietly. He tries to walk right by Jaha and carry on his way, down the path that’s in front of him and away from the ruins of the city, but Jaha keeps appearing at the edge of his vision wherever he looks. 

“Before you killed me,” Jaha says, “I told you that I had learned faith, while you never had. I must ask - is that still true? Have you found your faith, or are you lacking?”

Murphy doesn’t want to entertain whatever twisted ideas he’s got, but this makes him stop in his tracks and he looks over his shoulder to stare at Jaha. “Faith,” he repeats, slowly. “You know, nobody ever gave me a good enough reason to put my faith in them.”

“Oh,” Jaha says, and for a figment of Murphy’s imagination, he looks genuinely disappointed. “So you still never have, then.”

“Guess not,” Murphy mutters, and then he tries to keep walking, but a small part of him wants to stay. 

Jaha’s staring at him, looking slightly amused. “The offer still stands,” he says. “I could teach you what I once learned.”

“You want to teach me?” Murphy asks, and somehow, it doesn’t feel like he’s talking to the man he killed. He’s not the executioner, not here, not when he has absolutely no power. “Then tell me - what are you? What is this place?”

There’s a pause, and then Jaha sighs. “This is your mindspace,” he says. “Your mind is not dead, but your body is otherwise occupied, so rather than reincarnate, here you remain.”

Deep down, Murphy thinks he guessed this already, but he supposes he must have. If Jaha is a part of his mind, then he’s talking to himself, anyways. “So Daniel, or whoever,  _ is _ in my body, then?”

“Yes.”

Murphy’s heart sinks, thinking about his friends. Do they know he’s dead? Is Daniel walking around, pretending to be him? Or - has he just gone missing without a trace, never getting a chance to say goodbye? What evils are being committed with his own face? He hopes that they’re okay. He hopes that Lexa hasn’t been taken for a similar reason. “How do I get out of here?”

“There’s nowhere to go,” Jaha replies. “Surely, you know this, after all the time you have spent here.”

Murphy blinks. “It hasn’t been that long, has it?”

Jaha pauses, once again, but then he grins. It should be haunting, much like it was when Murphy had executed him, but now it’s only annoying. “You truly don’t know, do you?”

“Know  _ what _ ?”

“You’ve been here before. Many times before, actually.”

“No, I haven’t - I think I would remember.”

Somehow, his grin grows wider. “I believe you once called this place  _ the between. _ ”

Murphy can’t stop his eyes from widening. “No,” he says, “that doesn’t make sense. The between didn’t exist. I made it up, to make the transition easier on myself.”

“You made up the way it looked,” Jaha agrees, “but it was  _ your _ mind, after all. It looks however you want it to look.”

This makes sense, it does, but Murphy’s oddly offended he hadn’t figured it out before now. When he dies, he enters his own mind - maybe everybody does. Maybe his immortality is simply due to the fact that unlike everybody else, he’s able to leave it. “It’s different this time, though,” he says. “I can’t leave.”

“This time, it’s your full mind,” Jaha says. “Nothing is being held back - but I think you’ve found that already, yes?”

Murphy doesn’t know what to say to that, so he moves past it. “What are you, then? A ghost of my past? A demon, representing my past mistakes?”

It’s funny - despite being responsible for so much of the suffering in his life, Jaha is far from threatening. He looks like he’d keel right over if Murphy pushes him too hard. “I cannot tell you that,” Jaha says, “but I have faith that  _ you _ will figure it out.”

There’s an odd amount of emphasis on the word ‘you,’ but Murphy doesn’t get a second to figure this out. Instead, he looks down to his right, where a small silver gun has materialized. He doesn’t reach out to touch it. He knows he’ll see Titus’ failed assassination attempt and their exile, Jaha’s body falling to the forest floor. He’ll hear Lexa’s screams, and he’ll feel the bullet that had shot him enter his brain once more. None of this is something he wants to relive. 

Still - he’s being given a choice here, this much is obvious. It seems clear, at first. If Jaha is representative of his past, of his mistakes, then all he has to do is lift the gun and pull the trigger. All he has to do is do exactly what he’s already done once, and he won’t even have to watch the blood splatter across the ruins, because none of it will be real. 

But - maybe Charlotte was right. This is not the way to slay one’s demons. 

Instead, without a word, he turns around and walks away, leaving Jaha in his dust. 

* * *

The path in front of him twists, and then goes downhill. Murphy has a sneaking suspicion as to where he’s headed next, but it doesn’t make it any easier when he reaches the building that, once upon a time, had harboured Becca’s lab. 

At this point, he’s not surprised to see anything in his mindspace, and the more he thinks about it, the more he knows the lab has a justified place here. The six months he’d spent inside of it were the best, the worst, and the most impactful months of his life. He doesn’t want to face them, not again, but the path winds right inside the doorway and he knows he has no choice. 

He never has a choice, and frankly, he’s getting quite sick of it. 

Still, the door is unlocked, so he walks right in. Immediately, he’s standing in the center of the lab. It looks exactly as it had before Praimfaya - even the bedroom upstairs looks clean, as though nobody has ever lived in it. It’s oddly comforting to see it like this, untouched and pristine. He still harbours a needless grudge for Becca, but he suspects that she, too, would have liked it this way. 

Then, his eyes land on the radiation chamber, and his blood grows cold. 

Maybe he’s meant to touch the unbroken glass surface surrounding it, and maybe he’s meant to relive the pain that he’d felt and the torture he’d undergone all in the name of humanity, but he can’t bring himself to do it. He isn’t sure what else this place could possibly have for him. Though he knows he’s stronger than he was when he’d first been in that chamber, many years ago, he can’t go through that again, even as a memory. He can’t. He won’t. 

The path stretches out in front of him, leading to a door at the other side of the lab. Through it, he can see the sun, and he knows that this door is his ticket to freedom. It’s open, and it’s unlocked, and nobody stands in his way, but still, he does not move towards it. 

“Two hours,” a voice says, and his head snaps towards it. She wasn’t there a moment ago, but Abby now sits on the staircase, a vial full of black blood in her hand. “Two hours, and then we’ll go again.”

“No,” he whispers, but Bellamy’s not here to save him, not this time. 

“This is our solution,” she says. Her voice is flat, and her eyes are cold. She does not care that he is suffering. Perhaps she can’t afford to. 

The radiation chamber is calling his name, but he can’t do it, not here, not again. Abby stares at him, burrowing holes in his head with her gaze. He feels trapped. He feels like there are chains around his hands, his feet, and a rope around his neck. He feels like he’s in a cage, just like he was in the Mountain, and he’s sure that if he thinks hard enough about it, the doors will shut and he will be forever trapped in this place. 

Yet - the door stays open. He remains free. It’s then, in the oddest of moments, that Jaha’s words float through his mind once more.  _ I have faith that  _ you _ will figure it out.  _

And somehow, he understands. 

Yes, he’s been caged. Yes, he’s been confined, and tortured, and kept against his will. But for many years now, and especially the past while, he’s been doing it to himself. Maybe he got so used to being trapped that he never learned how to truly live free, or maybe he never bothered to try, but there are no bindings keeping him here, not anymore. 

There wasn’t, once, but now there  _ is _ a choice - he just had to have enough faith in himself to find it. 

“No,” Murphy says, and yes, it’s all in his mind, but it feels good to advocate for himself rather than wait for someone else to save him. With a newfound confidence, he takes a step, and when he looks back up, Abby has vanished. 

Behind him, though, he feels distant heat. There’s a subtle  _ roar _ as the wind picks up outside and Murphy’s eyes widen, the sound all too familiar. Praimfaya’s at his heels. It’s close by, if he can feel the flames of the radiation on his neck already, so he  _ runs _ , moving as fast as he can across the lab. 

It’s already inside and it’s racing to catch up with him, as if begging to steal the small bit of comfort he’d just found. “Not this time,” he says, and then with a cry, he throws himself forwards, making it through the door just as the flames reach his heels and burn up the rest of the lab, the heat just enough to cause an unscratchable itch on his skin. 

And then, it’s quiet once again. 

Murphy’s landed on his hands and knees. When he looks up, he sees he’s once again in some kind of meadow, but this one is far more familiar than the last. A grin spreads across his face as he looks around, feeling the warmth of the sun above him fill his bones. Behind him, the lab has vanished, revealing acres and acres of more greenery. In the distance, he hears a horse  _ neigh,  _ and Murphy laughs. 

He’s back in the valley - the same one he called home for six years. There’s pain here, yes, but there’s also peace - and he thinks he knows, now, that one does not come without the other. 

The ground is soft underneath his feet as he walks through the valley, past the village where he made his home. Off in the distance, he sees the prisoners ship, but the path he’s on does not lead this way and for that he’s grateful. There’s nothing he could see or learn from going in there, he knows that much. Instead, he keeps walking, taking in the fresh air and feeling the euphoria the wind gives him as he travels forwards with it, until he looks at what he’s approaching and sees something that was not there before. 

He’s still in the valley, yes, but in front of him is a cliff. As Murphy gets closer, he realizes that it’s not just any cliff - it’s the very same one that Bellamy had gone over to save that girl’s life, shortly after the rest of the Ark had come down to the ground. It’s the very same cliff where he had saved Bellamy’s life. 

It’s also the same cliff where, for the first time, he’d learned that Death wasn’t always his enemy. Somehow, this feels less relevant. 

Murphy approaches it slowly, reluctant to leave the valley behind him, but his curiosity gets the better of him as to why it’s here, and why he’s seeing it now, so he keeps moving forwards. It’s silent, all around him, as he stands at the edge of the cliff. The wind is stronger now, moving so harshly it threatens to knock him right off his feet, but he stands his ground - at least, until he hears the scream. 

He looks down and chokes on his breath, dropping to his knees in an instant. Only moments ago there was nobody there, but now Bellamy is dangling over the edge, holding onto the rock face with only a few fingers. Murphy moves quickly, getting onto his stomach and reaching down until he’s grasping Bellamy’s hand in his own, trying to pull him up with all his might. 

“Murphy,” Bellamy cries, swaying dangerously below him. His other hand slips off the rock face, and his feet aren’t on anything at all. The only thing keeping him from falling to his death below is Murphy’s grip. 

“Don’t you worry, Bellamy,” Murphy says through gritted teeth, straining to bring them both to safety. “I won’t drop you.”

This time, Death isn’t here to help him. Nobody is here to help him, not even as he cries out, trying to muster up strength that he just doesn’t have. “Let me go, Murphy,” Bellamy calls, the wind roaring so loudly that he can barely hear him. 

“Shut up.”

“I’ll just take you down with me,” he continues. “Save yourself. Let me go.”

Still, Murphy holds fast. “It doesn’t matter!” he yells, looking down over the cliff’s edge with tears in his eyes. If this were years ago, he’d blame it on the wind, but now he knows better. “I want to be with you, okay? It’s me and you. It’s me and you!”

Bellamy’s gaze grows mournful. “You deserve to live,” he says. “You can’t do that if you’re trapped with me. It’s not worth it.”

“Don’t you get it?” Murphy cries. “I love you, you idiot! I love you, okay? It’s always been me and you, and it’s always going to be, just me and you, forever! For however long we have!”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, and his grip slips, just an inch. 

“Don’t you dare let go,” Murphy yells, with all the might he has. “Don’t you  _ dare _ , Bellamy! You got it? It’s me and you, always and forever, toward - toward eternity! I want an eternity with you, you hear me?”

And though he hangs from a cliff-side, Bellamy smiles. For a moment, Murphy thinks he can do this - he can pull him up, and then he’ll figure out what to do next, but whatever happens, it won’t matter, not as much as this does. But then, in one horrifying second, his grip slides just a little more. 

It’s enough. Bellamy falls. 

“No!” he roars, throwing his weight forwards to try and catch him, but all this does is throw him off balance. He’s barely on the top of the cliff as is, and now, he slides forwards against the dirt and then off entirely, and in less than a second, he, too, is falling. 

“No,” he whispers, but still, he falls. 

* * *

He feels as though he’s been falling for hours when he finally hits the ground, but he does not die. Somehow, he lands softly, and rather than rock being underneath him, he’s once again laying on dirt. 

Murphy stands, a melancholy settling in his bones when he doesn’t see Bellamy anywhere. It’s not real - he knows that. Logically, he knows that the real Bellamy is still out there, contending with a man named Daniel, but he can’t help him there. All he knows is that the Bellamy in here, the one he could save, must now be dead. 

It’s fitting, then, that as he looks around, he realizes he’s standing in a graveyard. 

He’s never been here before, so he’s not sure what memory this is supposed to evoke, but there are rows and rows of graves, stretching out further than his eyes can see. Each one bears a small marker, but none of them are named. Around him, the air grows cold and the sky grows dark as he stares at the mounds of dirt. Fog rolls in around him, but he isn’t frightened, not of that. 

He thinks - no, he  _ knows _ , that he must be looking at the graves of all the people he’s killed. This chills him far more than any kind of scenery ever could. 

By now, though, he knows the rules of this place. He reaches down, hesitantly, and lightly touches the marker of the grave closest to him. In an instant, he’s elsewhere. 

_ A knife in his own hand. A cell all around him. Loneliness and confusion, pressing in his mind. A roar, a cry, and then a stab wound, and he’s bleeding out by his own hand. He’s dead.  _

Murphy gasps, pulling his hand away, looking down at the grave in horror. It doesn’t belong to one of his victims, no - it belongs to himself, to a past life. He’s just seen one of his earliest deaths, the one he’d inflicted himself, just to make sure that he really, truly, couldn’t die. He’d still been on the Ark when that had happened, and he’d been so young, and so afraid. 

He isn’t sure he’s ready to see more, but he walks to the next grave, reaching down and placing a hand on the marker with trepidation. Murphy’s eyes close, and - 

_ A rope around his neck. The crowd roars as his body falls. His neck snaps in seconds. He doesn’t feel it, not that time.  _

This one hurts less, only because he’s seen it before, but it confirms his theory - this graveyard only belongs to him. He supposes it makes sense, that he’s stored these memories somewhere and isolated them, but as he looks around, the pathway he’d been following before has vanished. The only option he has now is to walk down the rows of graves, briefly viewing each death as he goes. 

It can’t hurt him, he knows this. Nothing can hurt him here. And he knows now that he’s got a choice in all this, so - he steps forwards and begins. 

_ One, two, three bullets in his chest as Finn fires shot after shot. A body falls that doesn’t feel like his own. Everything changes.  _

_ “I have faith,” Jaha says. A gun raised, a bullet in his brain. A scream in the distance as his body collapses without grace.  _

_ Jaha again. Another gun, another shot, another round of imprisonment. An aching sense of loneliness as nobody is coming to find him.  _

_ Titus tries and fails. Clarke succeeds, and a bullet enters his brain. He dies.  _

_ The radiation machine takes its hold on him. A cacophony of sound as he yells and he thrashes and he wishes for it all to be over. He dies.  _

_ Twice more the radiation melts his flesh and steals his soul. He dies slowly. He dies screaming.  _

_ An angel of death, falling from the satellite to the ground below. Bones break on impact, then melt under the wave of fire. He dies.  _

_ The world burns, and he burns, and he dies. He dies again, and again, and again -  _

Murphy’s eyes open with a gasp as he looks up, realizing he’s made it to the other side of the graveyard. There’s only one more grave in front of him. This one is larger, and the marker, a plain white pillar, is much taller. In front of him there is still no pathway, and the world has grown much darker. With a sigh, he reaches down, expecting another memory to flash into his mind, but - 

When his hand makes contact with the marker, he’s transported somewhere entirely different. 

It’s the Ark, this much is clear as he looks around. He’s in someone’s quarters that are not his own, but the more he sees, the more his eyes widen as recognition dawns on him. It’s been a very, very long time since he’s been here, but try as he might, he’ll never forget this place. 

Sure enough, as he looks in front of him, he sees a much younger version of himself. The stench of gasoline confirms that he’s ready to set the fire, the very same one that landed him in lockup all those years ago - the very same one that he’d lit to get revenge, but also to test what his father had told him, to see if he well and truly could die. 

It was here that his life had changed. If not for this action, if not for this death, none of the other graves would have been dug. Yes, there were many reasons why he lit that fire - but there were just as many as to why he shouldn’t have. 

The younger version of him doesn’t seem to be able to see him, but still, Murphy cries out as he sees his past drop a lit match onto the ground, the fire catching quickly. This, he cannot change. He can’t change any of it, but he wishes that he could have. He wishes he’d done differently. 

_ There’s always a choice.  _

Above them both, the light fixture begins to shake from the stress of the flames and the smoke. It’s seconds away from falling and breaking every bone in his past self’s body, starting them both on this horrible cycle. Despite the flames that creep towards his skin, and despite the fact that none of this can be real, for just a second, Murphy understands what it means to have a little faith. 

He leaps forwards, hands somehow making contact with his younger self. He pushes them both out of the way, the light fixture falling to the ground harmlessly. The flames continue to spread, but there is enough time to make it out the room, and he watches as his younger self wrestles out of his grip and does just that, running away and leaving this all behind. 

Murphy blinks, and then, once again, he’s somewhere completely different. 

The room around him grows completely white. He feels refreshed, somehow, and he makes it to his feet easily. Though his sweater should be covered with ash, smoke, dirt and blood, it’s completely clean once again. He’s back in what he used to refer to as the between - now, he knows this is just another place in his so-called mindspace, though why he’s here once again he has no idea. 

Across from him, out of the shadows, Death comes into view. “Hello,” they say, speaking with many voices in unison. 

What once was terrifying now feels oddly comforting. “I’ve been wondering when you were going to show up,” Murphy replies, leaning against the back wall. 

“Oh, I’m always here,” Death replies, “but I thought you had some other things to work through before we met.”

This, he can’t refute. “Why here?” Murphy asks, gesturing to the room around them. “I know that we’re in my mindspace, however that works. Why bring this back?”

Death pauses, displaying a sense of restraint they’d hardly used before. “I thought some familiarity would be nice for our final meeting.”

“For our -  _ what _ ?”

“It’s over, Murphy,” Death replies, and though it does nothing to calm him, they sound genuinely apologetic. “You are dead. I can’t bring you back if there’s no body for you to go back to.”

“Well, I knew that,” Murphy replies, hesitantly, “but - why would this be our final meeting? Am I - what’s going to happen to me?”

“You have questions,” Death says. “I understand. I did, too, when this happened to me.”

He shakes his head, unable to process any of this. “When  _ what _ happened?”

“Death is a part of you,” they say, “just as it was a part of me. There is a piece of me that lives here, in your mind and in your DNA, that allows me to bring you back when you die. It’s why you can see me out in the world, and why you can interact with me when you’re in your mindspace.”

“I know,” he says, and though he’s never thought of it that way, it does make sense. 

“Death is a part of you,” they repeat, “and when you die, for good, that part - it doesn’t just leave.”

“You aren’t making sense,” Murphy whispers, and he’s well and truly afraid. He doesn’t know what’s happening, or what’s going to happen to him, but all he knows is that he never asked for any of it. 

Death sighs, then steps forwards. Somehow, they’re shorter than before, so they stand only slightly taller than Murphy himself does. “I know this is confusing,” they say, but as they speak, their voice grows smaller. Where there was once many voices speaking at once, there is now only one, and Murphy thinks - no, he  _ knows _ he recognizes it. “It was for me, too. I wish I could have told you more along the way, but there were so many things you had to figure out for yourself.”

Their voice, the singular one, is distinctly male, yet also soft and light. When Murphy hears it, he feels very young, and very small, but also, very safe. “No,” he whispers, the realization dawning. “No, it can’t be.”

The hood of their cloak is still obscuring their face, but Murphy thinks Death smiles. “You see now, don’t you?”

Murphy hesitates, and then, with tears in his eyes and a voice barely above a whisper, he speaks with more courage than he’s ever had. “Dad?”

Death reaches up. The hood falls away, revealing the face of Alex Murphy - his father, lost to the void of space long ago. “Hello, John,” he says. “It’s so good to see you again.”

His breath hitches, and then without restraint, Murphy throws himself forwards and into the arms of his father, burrowing his face against his chest. Tears are streaming down his cheeks now and he’s sobbing, loudly, but he doesn’t care, and neither does his father. Instead, he wraps his arms around his shaking form, and they stay like that, wrapped in each other’s presence for a long, long time. 

Eventually, once he’s calmed himself enough, Murphy steps back and looks at his father in awe. “They floated you,” he says, wiping his eyes. “But you didn’t die, did you?”

“I did,” he replies, “for a time, anyways. But after dying and coming back to life a few times in space, I was given a choice.”

“By - By Death?”

“Yes,” his father says. “I could become Death myself, and be the next bearer of souls, or I could move on.”

Murphy blinks, swallowing, trying to take it all in. “And you chose to become Death?”

“I did - just like my father had, and his father before him,” he says. 

“Why would you do that, if you didn’t have to?”

His father looks down at him, warmth in his eyes. “Because I knew that if I did, I would see you again,” he says, “and I have. More than I  _ should _ have, mind you - you were not very careful, huh?”

“Hey!” Murphy replies, but they both smile. “It’s not like I had a lot of choice, most of the time.”

“I know,” his father sighs, “but that was the lesson I wanted to teach you - that’s what I tried to teach you today, too, as you went through your memories. You’ve got a choice, now.”

“You mean - you were controlling what was happening in my mindspace? You made me see what I saw?”

His father pauses. “To an extent,” he says. “The memories you saw were out of my control, and the layout of your mindspace wasn’t my doing, either. But the people you saw along the way - I put them there for a reason.”

“Charlotte was my anger,” Murphy guesses, and his father nods, so he continues. “I had to overcome that to grow.”

“In the village, with Finn, that was the first time you’d truly sacrificed,” his father continues. “I needed you to know how important and vital that was - but how painful, too.”

“And Jaha was my biggest mistake,” he says. “So I had to let that go, right?”

His father smiles. “Right. Abby, well - she was complacency. You had to understand you had a choice in your fate. And Bellamy, well - he’s your love. That one is simple.”

“That one is anything but simple,” Murphy sighs, eyes downcast as he remembers the horror he’d felt when he’d let go of Bellamy’s hand. 

At this, his father laughs. “Maybe, but - underneath it all, there’s only love there. And that’s what’s important.”

Murphy smiles, but it falters. “What was the point, though?” he asks. “If I’m truly dead, and I can’t go back. What was the point of learning all that?”

His father pauses, as if waiting for something. Just as Murphy’s about to ask again, a sudden  _ thump _ rings through the room, and the lights flicker, the room turning completely black as the sound plays. As soon as it’s gone, it returns to normal, and his father is in front of him once more. 

“The point,” his father says, smiling as though he knows exactly what’s going on, “is that your friends are trying to save you, right now - and you need to be ready if you want to go back to them.”

Murphy draws in a sharp breath. “If I want to?”

“You still have the choice,” he says. “My job is done. You can take up my mantle and become Death, if you like, or you can move on. I leave it up to you.”

But - it’s not quite that simple, and perhaps because he’s seen all he has today, he knows that isn’t. There’s a third choice here, buried deep within the two, that they both know exist but his father hasn’t yet said, for reasons that Murphy’s only beginning to understand. 

_ I have faith that you will figure it out,  _ Jaha had said.  _ There’s always a choice,  _ he’d learned in the laboratory.  _ It’s me and you, always and forever, toward eternity,  _ he’d said to Bellamy. With these three things in mind, and everything else he’s since learned to be true, the choice is easy.

“It’s taken me a long time to get here,” Murphy says, watching the way his father looks at him with nothing but love. “It’s taken me a long time to understand the point, and why I was given these abilities - but I think I know, now.”

All around them, the  _ thump _ is heard, and the room turns black for a second, but then it is over. “What do you know?” his father asks. 

“I’ve tried ignoring Death,” Murphy says. The more he speaks, the more he is sure that he’s doing the right thing. “I’ve tried becoming one with Death. I even tried to stave off Death for as long as I could, focusing on material things and surroundings instead. But it was never about Death, was it? It was always about life - it was about leading my own.”

His father smiles. 

A distant  _ thump _ sounds again, and the lights flicker, for longer this time. When they’re back on, Murphy knows what must be done. “Dad,” he says, aware that this might be the last time they ever speak, “I don’t want to die.”

Above them, he hears the  _ thump _ again, and the lights flicker. He knows, now, what this means - somewhere, out in the real world, his friends are trying to save his life this very second, and his heart is doing its best to start. “So,” his father asks, “what  _ do _ you want, then?”

Murphy looks up, locking eyes with his father, feeling nothing but warmth in his chest. “I want to live.” And, truly, it’s that simple - it’s always been that simple. 

His father nods, though he is fading. All around them, the white room is fading away, and Murphy thinks that this will be the last time he ever sees the place. “That’s what I’ve been waiting for you to say,” he replies, his voice soft. 

“Me, too,” Murphy agrees. 

He nods. “You understand that I’m leaving now, don’t you? This can’t be undone.”

Murphy smiles. “I do. Thank you, for everything, but - I can do this on my own, now.”

Alex Murphy smiles, reaching down and pulling the hood of the cloak back over his face, picking up the mantle of Death once more and returning to his role. “Don’t thank me,” they say, their voice returning to an echo of many all at once. “You did this yourself.”

And though he is now one with Death, Murphy looks at his father and he feels no fear. Instead, he watches him glide away and disappear, leaving for good this time. He thinks this should make him feel sad, but all he feels is peace. 

There’s another  _ thump _ , and the lights go out, and then - 

Then, there is light. 

Murphy gasps, chest heaving as he suddenly comes to life. It’s not like the countless times before - no, this one feels final. This is the last time he’ll ever have a second chance, but it’s not a bad thing, not this time. 

He looks up, sees Bellamy’s face staring down at him, and he feels no fear. “Murphy?” Bellamy whispers, hesitant for reasons that are beyond him. 

“Yeah,” Murphy replies, his voice hoarse and threatening to give out, but still he manages a smile. Bellamy lets out a breath of relief and then he’s reaching down, pulling him up and supporting him by the shoulders as he draws him into an embrace. 

“I thought you were dead,” Bellamy says. His voice is frantic, thick with worry and desperation. “I thought you were really gone this time.”

“Not without you,” he replies, staying secure in Bellamy’s embrace. He doesn’t know where he is, or what’s happened, but he knows that beneath it all, there is love here - and it can be as simple as that, if he wants it to be. 

There’s always a choice, and when love is an option, it’s very, very easy to choose. 

* * *

It’s only been a few days since Kaylee had tried to kill his mind and Daniel had taken his body, but much has happened. Once he’s recovered, he sits upright and Bellamy explains to him what’s gone on in that time. 

His body had been taken by Daniel Lee, one of the Primes. He’d been right - the Primes were not gods, as their people believed, but scientists who had figured out how to upload their consciousness into robotic chips and steal the bodies of other people. Daniel had tried to pretend to be Murphy, for a while, but it hadn’t lasted long and soon, his friends had figured out what had happened to Murphy. 

They’d had to start a war against the Primes to do it, but they’d managed to capture Daniel and take him out to a man called Gabriel, who led a group that was against the Primes and what they stood for. It was Gabriel that had stopped his heart and killed his body, removing the chip containing Daniel as he’d done so. The  _ thumps _ that he’d been hearing in his mindspace were, indeed, Bellamy doing CPR in a desperate attempt to bring him back to life when it was clear that his immortality wasn’t going to do it. 

“I’m not immortal anymore,” Murphy explains, once he’s finished. “It’s a very long story, but - that’s over, I think.”

Bellamy nods, taking this in. “Okay. That’s okay - we have you back, right? And that’s all that matters.”

After that, Murphy had thanked Gabriel, and then they’d begun the journey back to Sanctum. The war was supposedly going on as they travelled. “We had the upper hand when I left,” Bellamy explains, as they move through the woods, Gabriel just a bit behind them, leading his own people to help. “Raven and Emori managed to turn a lot of the citizens against the Primes, while Lexa and Clarke led the charge. If all goes well, they should be waiting for us to return, the Primes defeated and captured.”

As it turns out, for the first time in a very long time, all did indeed go well. 

Murphy’s expecting to be greeted by a warzone when they enter the city of Sanctum, but instead, it’s peaceful. There’s evidence of a battle, but it’s one that has ended - and one they have won. 

As soon as they enter, Lexa emerges from the crowd, eyes widening when she sees him. “It’s me,” he says, “I’m back, I promise.”

She races forwards, embracing him, and then Raven’s at his side as well and he hugs her, too, tighter than he ever has before. “It’s good to have you back,” Lexa says. 

Raven slaps him on the shoulder, and when he looks at her, she’s on the verge of tears. “Don’t do that again,” she snaps. “I thought you were  _ gone _ .”

“I’ll do my best,” he says, and this is enough. 

The three of them lead him through the city, where several citizens work, all of them cleaning up the mess that the battle left. The air is heavy with a general sense of melancholy, but he does not see regret in their faces as they pass. He hopes that they’re happier now, or at least, they will be, now that they know the truth. 

They enter the palace, the very same one where he’d shared a meal with the Primes only days before. Inside, the rest of his friends wait. In the center of the room is Russell Lightbourne, the leader of the Primes. He’s on his knees, his wrists bound behind his back. He seems to be the only Prime left. 

“You’re alive!” Jasper calls, and he, Clarke and Emori come rushing forwards, and he embraces them all, too. Before long Octavia and Lincoln come over, and he greets them, Miller, and Jackson, too. It feels like he’s back in the valley, reuniting with his friends, but somehow this time it feels that much sweeter. 

Amidst all of it, Russell groans. “Get on with it,” he calls, shattering the reunions. “You’re going to kill me, aren’t you? Do it.”

“The rest of the Primes,” Murphy asks, “are they dead?”

Clarke looks pained as she answers. “Yes,” she says. “They all died during the battle - Russell, though, we saved for you.”

He looks at her, unsure of what to say. “For me?”

“We thought,” Raven says, “that you should decide. Since - well, since you’re the one that got us this far, and you’re the one that they took so much from.”

Murphy sighs, and then he nods, and suddenly, a gun is pressed into his hand. “Whatever you see fit,” Emori says, and she backs away, retreating into Raven’s embrace. 

All of this feels very sudden. He hasn’t had nearly enough time to make a judgement, not of this magnitude, but he knows he can’t pass this off to anyone else. There is always a choice, after all, and if he’s to be the leader he knows he can be, he’s got to make one. 

Slowly, Murphy walks over to Russell, holding the gun in his hand. The older man looks up at him, as much defiance in his eyes as he can muster. He could shoot him, right here and now, but it doesn’t feel that easy. Instead, he fixes his gaze onto him. “How many?” he asks. 

Russell’s brow furrows. “How many what?”

“How many have you killed?”

There’s a pause. “This is my seventh body.”

Seven lies, innocent lives, dead at this man’s hand only because he was afraid to die. “You deserve to die,” Murphy says, and then he holds out his hand, lining up the barrel of the gun with Russell’s temple. 

“I do.”

“I should kill you, right here and now.”

“You should,” Russell says, and though he’s been alive for hundreds of years, it seems as though he truly means it. 

Murphy’s hand shakes, just slightly. Russell stays on his knees, and he moves his head forwards until it rests against the barrel of the gun, inviting him to shoot. It wouldn’t even be murder, at this point. Russell wants to die. He deserves to die. His people tried to kill Murphy, and they tried to kill his friends, and in a different world, they very well may have. 

But - this is not the way he is meant to slay his demons. 

Slowly, he lowers the gun. “I won’t kill you,” he says. His hand still shakes, so he’s not sure how his voice sounds so steady and strong. “I’ll lock you up, though, and I’ll let your people decide what to do with you.”

Murphy stands back, letting two of Gabriel’s people come forwards and haul Russell up, away, and out of the palace. The gun drops from his grip before he realizes, and then Bellamy’s hand is on his shoulder, steadying him. 

Once, a very long time ago, Death had told him something he’d never forgotten.  _ Death is a force of the universe,  _ they’d said,  _ but so are you.  _ Knowing that these words came from his father only cement their meaning more, and as he thinks about them, Monty’s voice, too, plays in his mind.  _ Do better there,  _ he’d said, and Murphy had promised he would. 

“I think,” he says, placing a hand lightly on top of Bellamy’s, “it’s time that we start being the good guys.”

“We’ll do better here,” Bellamy agrees, and then he takes Murphy’s hand in his own and he holds him, tightly. Everyone else in the room begins to leave, but they stay, standing next to one of the large windows and letting the two suns in the sky illuminate them. 

“It’s me and you,” Murphy promises. “Right?”

Bellamy smiles. “You came back to me,” he says, and they are not separated by a fence, or a wall of fire, or hanging off a cliffside. “So - yes. It’s me and you.” 

They kiss, softly, the light outside casting a perfect silhouette around them, and Murphy has never felt quite so warm. They part, but stay together, as their grip on each others’ hands tightens ever so slightly and they, too, exit the palace, leaving the gun laying in the shadows behind them. 

It is just Murphy and Bellamy, moving together toward eternity, and there is so much love - there has always been so much love. Today, Murphy decides, it can be as simple as that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there IS one more chapter, but really, this one seals the story shut on a lot of aspects! i hope the route it took was enjoyable, because i know it was a bit risky, maybe, to make it very internalized and focus on the emotional aspect of it, but really, this story has always been about the emotional aspect of it. so. i hope you liked it nonetheless.
> 
> the epilogue will be out shortly, most likely - no promises there, but it will be coming. this chapter is very, very long, so i decided it was best to post it and let it digest before making the epilogue and putting a final bow on this. wow. i can't believe it's come so far, honestly. 
> 
> HUGE thank you to everyone who has supported me through this, especially oog and charlie. i have talked so endlessly at both of them about this and they have been nothing but lovely. please go give their stuff a read (they are oogaboogu and blueparacosm on here), they are both so talented and lovely people and i would be nowhere without their support. 
> 
> i am on twitter @reidsnora, as always. feel free to come say hi! and thank you all for reading. <3


	18. death shall be no more

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men,  
> And dost with poyson, warre, and sicknesse dwell,  
> And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well,  
> And better than thy stroake; why swell’st thou then?  
> One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally,  
> And death shall be no more; 
> 
> **death, thou shalt die.**

Russell Lightbourne dies after six days in isolation. Even he could find no joy in living when those he loved had perished. Despite everything he’d done, Murphy feels genuine pity for the man - he, too, would be nothing alone.

“He just refused to eat,” Bellamy says, as he and some of the others sit around the large table in the palace. “His people voted to keep him imprisoned for the rest of his natural life, but - nobody was going to force him to live if he didn’t want to.”

_ What a waste,  _ Murphy thinks. After everything, he’s come to value the precious seconds he’s been given to live, and as he looks around the table at all his friends, he’s grateful to be able to live with them. He smiles, caught up in the contentment. He’s so caught up in it, in fact, that he misses what’s being said at the meeting until everyone is staring at him. 

“What’s up?” he asks, noticing Bellamy grin and chuckle to himself. 

“I asked,” Clarke repeats, though she, too, is smiling, “what do we do now?”

And, well - what  _ do _ they do now? It’s a loaded question all around, though, he supposes, it’s the one they came to this meeting to answer. He’s sitting at one end of the table, Bellamy on his right. Lexa sits across from them, and Clarke, Raven, Octavia, and Gabriel take up the other seats. Emori, Jasper and the rest of their friends are somewhere outside, helping the people of Sanctum rebuild their livelihoods and come to terms with the fact that their faith had been false and their leaders liars. They’d woken the rest of Wonkru still in cryosleep on the prisoner’s ship, and now they mix freely amidst the Sanctum citizens, most of them grateful to help in the work if it means they will finally get peace. 

All any one of them wants is to finally get peace. 

“Sanctum needs a leader,” Murphy finally says. 

“Should we hold an election?” Bellamy asks. 

“No,” Gabriel immediately counters. “Eventually, yes, we should - but right now, the people don’t know what that means, and I’m afraid many wouldn’t use the system fairly. In a few months, or a year or so, that’s a viable option, but not yet.”

Murphy doesn’t like denying them the option to elect their own leader, but he has to admit what Gabriel’s saying makes sense. “So, what do we do, then?” he asks. 

Raven leans back in her chair, deep in thought. “I think,” she says, slowly, “Gabriel, you’re the obvious choice.”

Nobody contests this - Gabriel was a Prime himself, once, and as such he knows the city and its people inside and out. They pause, waiting for Gabriel to speak. However, as the seconds tick by, a grimace slowly dawns on his face. “I’m a scientist, not a leader,” he finally says. “Besides - even if I were to try, these people would never follow me. I was labelled as a traitor for years.”

“We know you weren’t, though,” Octavia points out. “Surely your people must recognize that now.”

“They might,” he concedes, “but on the other hand, I’m too closely associated with the Primes. I’m not in a good position to lead them, not right now - and to be honest, I don’t want to.”

His words are almost funny to Murphy, but he refrains from showing his amusement. Back on Earth, and even when they’d first landed, leadership had always seemed like such a chore. Clarke, Lexa, Octavia, and even himself - they’d all fallen victim to it and been forced to bear horrible consequences. It’s funny, now, to hear someone turn it down voluntarily, when for so long it had seemed to them all like a weight that had to be carried that they had no choice in. 

_ There’s always a choice,  _ his father had said. Murphy knows this now, deeply so, but he wishes he had known it before. One simple truth could have saved them all a lot of misery. 

“Okay,” Clarke says, “that makes sense. So, the question is - who?”

“Sanctum needs someone new,” Gabriel replies. “Someone who can inspire them to be better, and to come together as a community again.”

Raven purses her lips. “Forgive me for saying so,” she says, and suddenly he’s acutely aware that she’s staring at him, “but I think if Gabriel isn’t an option,  _ you’re _ the clear choice, Murphy.”

He can’t pretend that he saw this coming, but he also isn’t completely surprised. While he’s pondering this, Bellamy gently places his left hand on top of Murphy’s, a subtle reminder that he isn’t alone in his decision. “Really?” he finally asks, begging to get some of the attention off him. 

“She’s right,” Octavia says. “You led us when we first came to Sanctum, and I think you’d been leading us for a long time before that, too. You could do this.”

And, well - maybe he could. It’s true he had taken the leadership role when they’d first come to Sanctum, but that had mostly been to regain some control in his life and save his friends from having to do the same. He’d wanted to do better. Even now, that’s his biggest driving force - he will honour Monty’s dying words, with everything that he does.

But then, he looks at Gabriel, and it all makes sense to him. Yes, he’d taken on the leadership role because he’d felt it was necessary - but he’d never wanted to. There’s always a choice, after all. He’d made one then, and he can make another one now. 

“No,” he finally says, and though he doesn’t see it himself, Bellamy smiles. “I don’t think I am the right choice.”

“We’d all help,” Raven says. “You wouldn’t be alone with this, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

He shakes his head, biting his lip, and then he directs his gaze across the table to Lexa. “I don’t have the right skills for this,” he admits, “but there is someone here who does.”

“Who are you thinking of?” Clarke asks, carefully, as if she knows what he’s thinking. She might just - she’s always been incredibly perceptive, and he knows she’ll use that skill to help them move forwards. It’s another reason he feels confident in his choice. 

He looks at Lexa for a moment in silence, waiting to see if she’d avoid his gaze or look away, or flat out reject what he’s proposing. When she looks at him, however, her eyes are warm, and she does nothing but nod. 

“Lexa,” he says, “would you lead these people?”

“Yes,” she replies. “I would like to.”

He casts an eye around the table, but nobody objects to this choice, and nobody seems unhappy with it. “Great,” he says. “Like Raven said - we’re all going to help.”

“Yes, we are,” Clarke jumps in, smiling widely at her girlfriend, intertwining their hands. While he didn’t say so, Murphy knows they aren’t getting only one leader - they’re getting two. 

Already, Lexa’s sitting taller in her chair. She’d never truly lost the aura of a leader, but for the first time since her exile and the removal of the Flame, she’s regained her confidence. “Gabriel,” she says, “I would like to ask you to be an advisor. You know more about this world than I ever will.”

He nods. “I would be honoured.”

“I’d actually like to work with you, too,” Raven says. She’s leaning forwards now, completely engaged. “My girlfriend Emori is out there right now, looking for ways we can help build and improve this place. We’d like to help you with that.”

“Of course,” Gabriel replies. “It’s going to take all of us to build Sanctum back up, but it’s possible. It’s definitely possible, and my god, will it be beautiful.”

_ Is it beautiful? It is in my dreams.  _ Monty had said that on his last message to them, so long ago. It had made Murphy cry then, and even now, it’s hard to fight back the tears. It will be beautiful - they can make it so. It’s as simple as that. “The rest of us have to do everything we can to help the people,” Murphy says. 

“I know that Jackson’s getting the medical facility up to speed, the best he can,” Clarke replies. “Miller’s helping him - and so is Jasper.”

“Jasper the doctor,” Raven muses. “You know what? I can see it.”

Murphy nods, smiling. “He’s always wanted to help people,” he says, quietly. He thinks back to some of their first days on Earth, when Jasper had been the only one to check up on him in the dropship. Even then, he’d been the most caring person around. 

“Lincoln and I are going to help the farmers,” Octavia adds. “He knows a lot about it from what Trikru taught him, and after working that hydrofarm for six years, I think I know quite a bit, too.”

Bellamy laughs, just slightly. “My sister the farmer,” he says, words coated with affection. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

She sticks out her tongue at him, then laughs. “I can’t lie,” she says, “I’m looking forward to it.”

There’s a slight pause, and then Bellamy nods. “So am I.”

Octavia raises an eyebrow. “Finally thinking of settling down, huh?”

The grip on Murphy’s hand tightens, and then Bellamy’s staring at him, his eyes softer than they ever have been. “I am, yeah,” he says. Murphy doesn’t look away. 

Around them, the meeting ends, each one of his friends going off in their separate ways. He and Bellamy, however, remain seated, never faltering in their closeness. “So,” Murphy finally says, “you’re thinking of the farm life, huh?”

“Not the farm life, necessarily,” he replies, “but - a place of our own would be nice, don’t you think?”

Murphy thinks, for only a second, and then he nods. “I want a garden.”

Bellamy’s taken aback for a moment, but then he grins. “A garden? Really?”

“Yeah,” he replies. “I liked taking care of nature during our six years apart. I think - it would make me happy, you know?”

“Okay,” Bellamy says. “Let’s go somewhere with a garden, then.”

It’s as simple as that. 

* * *

The next day, they announce publicly that Lexa is the new interim leader of Sanctum, with Clarke and Gabriel as her two close advisors. As it turns out, most of Wonkru aren’t aware that the Flame was ever taken out of her neck, and as such, they’re eager to embrace her as their new leader. Though there is the occasional voice of dissent, most of Sanctum’s original people don’t object - some seem more grateful than anything else to have a leader at all to make the hard decisions. 

“You’re going to be great,” Murphy says to Lexa as she steps back into the palace. Where the Primes had always used the large balcony to address their people, she’d chosen to do it at the front gates, so she was on the same level as everyone else. Already, this choice confirmed to Murphy that he’d made the right call. “You know that, right?”

She nods, her eyes full of gratitude. “Do you remember when we first met?” she asks. 

“Vividly,” he says. “I was scared out of my mind.”

Lexa laughs. “I called you a ‘Skaikru boy,’ when Clarke brought you to me.”

“You did. You weren’t wrong.”

“Maybe not then,” she says, “but I still think about that moment. More than anyone else ever has, Murphy, you have taught me what it means to be strong, selfless, and most of all, wise.”

His eyes widen. “I don’t think anyone has ever called me  _ wise _ before.”

“Perhaps they have simply not looked deep enough, then.”

Murphy pauses, and then it’s his turn to nod, showing his gratitude. “Well, for what it’s worth - you’ve taught me a lot, too.”

At this point, Clarke comes back into the palace as well, walking up to them. He looks at her, then at them both, and he’s reminded, once again, of Polis. He’s reminded of easy days, but unlike so many times before, he doesn’t wish to go back to them. No - he’s grateful for the memories he has, and the time he’d spent there, and most of all, he’s grateful for the two people standing in front of him. 

They gave him a home, yes - but more than anything else, they taught him what it meant to have a home at all. They taught him what it truly means to be at peace, and for that, he’ll never be able to repay them. 

“Thank you,” is all he can manage to say. “To you both. Truly.”

Clarke smiles. “I always knew there was something special about you,” she says. “Even way back on the Ark, after that fire, and I met you in the infirmary. I  _ knew _ there was something different. But thank  _ you _ , Murphy - after all, you’re the reason we’ve made it so far at all.”

“It wasn’t just me,” he insists. “I couldn’t have done this without all of you - especially the both of you.”

She smiles. “Look at us now, huh?”

“Exactly,” he says. “Now - don’t you both have some leadership duties to attend to, or whatnot?”

They exchange a glance, already falling into an easy routine. “You’re right,” Clarke says, and she’s about to leave, but then she looks back. “Oh, and I almost forgot - Bellamy’s waiting for you by the river, at the outskirts of the town. He said he’s got something to show you.”

Murphy’s brow furrows, but then he just shrugs. “Thanks,” he says, and then waves as they leave. They’re almost out of the room when suddenly, Lexa turns, staring him right in the eye. In silence, she raises two fingers to her forehead and gives him a mock salute, just as he had done years ago when he’d entered the tower in Polis for the first time. 

He laughs, loudly and vibrantly - then he, too, salutes. With a nod, she turns away for real this time, off to fulfill the role she’d never truly lost. 

Murphy’s just about to leave himself, and find his way to the river. He’s pretty sure there’s one at the edge of Sanctum, between the border of the farmland and the actual town, but before he can begin his search someone enters, stopping him. “Oh, hey,” Murphy says, relaxing when he sees Jasper. 

“Hey,” Jasper says. He keeps walking on his way, for a second, but then he turns and stops again. “Actually - there’s something I wanted to tell you.”

Murphy nods, waiting. “Sure.”

There’s a pause. It’s as if Jasper is floundering, not sure how to say the words he actually wants to say. After a few more seconds go by, he shakes his head, abandoning the thought completely, and then holds out his arms. Murphy smiles, and then he does, too, and wraps Jasper in the biggest, tightest, warmest hug he’s ever felt. 

“This says it better than I could,” Jasper whispers. 

Murphy doesn’t say anything. They embrace for a few seconds longer, and then break away, both of them smiling. “So,” Murphy says, “heard you’re going to be a doctor, now.”

“I am, yeah,” he replies. “I’m not, like -  _ good _ or anything, but Jackson says I’ve got good ‘bedside manner’ and ‘potential,’ so. I’m making it work.”

“For what it’s worth,” Murphy says, “I think you’re going to be the best doctor Sanctum has ever seen.”

“Don’t let Jackson hear that,” Jasper teases, but then his expression grows slightly more serious. “Seriously, though - thanks, Murphy. I owe you.”

He shakes his head. “You don’t, actually - I owe you more than you could ever owe me.”

Jasper has to think on this for a second, but then waves a hand. “You mean the stuff in the lab? Ah, please - I was just doing what any friend would do.”

“That’s just it,” Murphy counters. “You didn’t - you did more. I don’t know what I would have done without you in the lab. I don’t think I would have made it through.”

He pauses, looking at the floor for a second. “Well - thank you for that, then.”

Murphy takes a moment to internally debate something, and then he reaches out a hand, placing it on Jasper’s shoulder. He waits until Jasper’s looking at him in the eye again before speaking. “Remember,” he says. “‘Fuck you, Becca.’” It sounds silly, but Murphy knows he would have lost himself without that mantra. 

Slowly, a wide, vibrant smile grows on Jasper’s face. “Fuck you, Becca,” he repeats. 

They part, then, Jasper going off on his daily duties. Murphy leaves the palace, not feeling especially eager to return. On his way out past the main courtyard, he sees Raven and Emori standing out front, analyzing the structures of several buildings. 

“Hey,” Raven calls to him. “Bellamy said to tell you-”

“He’s waiting for me, yeah,” Murphy finishes. “Did he tell you what that was about?”

Raven exchanges a glance with Emori, and he watches them intertwine their fingers together. “I think he should be the one to break the news.”

Murphy’s even more confused than he was to begin with. He’s about to leave, but after his last two conversations he’s had, he thinks better of it and looks back. “Hey, both of you - thank you.”

Emori simply smiles, but Raven furrows her brow. “For what?”

“You were kind,” he says. “You’ve always been kinder than you had to be, despite everything. I’ve never forgotten that.”

She’s taken aback by this, and in her stunned silence, Emori puts a steadying hand on her shoulder. “It’s true,” she agrees. 

“You, too,” he says, to Emori this time. “You saved us all, by showing us that lab, even when you didn’t have to. We owe you everything.”

Emori blushes, unsure of how to process his words. “Thank  _ you _ , Murphy,” she replies, softly, and with a smile, he turns around and leaves them both to it, knowing that they’re both happier than they ever had been before. 

It takes him a while to make it to the outskirts of Sanctum, especially after getting lost at least twice, but soon he hears the small river and starts walking alongside it. It quite literally is acting as a border - on one side of the river is the farmlands, where Octavia and Lincoln are no doubt already helping get the agriculture up and running, and on the other side is the town itself. 

Close to one end of the river, he sees Bellamy. “Hey,” he calls, walking over to him. “Both Clarke  _ and _ Raven gave me your message.”

“I had to be sure,” he replies. As soon as Murphy’s at his side, he wraps an arm around his waist. “Are you ready?”

“Um, sure,” Murphy says. 

Bellamy gestures in front of them. He hadn’t really been looking at the scenery around him on his way here, but now Murphy realizes that they’re standing in front of a small cottage. It’s only slightly larger than the house he’d stayed at when he lived in the valley back on Earth, though this one seems to be empty. It’s close to the riverbank, but still far enough away that a great deal of the land around falls on the property itself. “It’s very pretty,” Murphy finally says, “but I don’t understand why we’re here.”

“It’s ours.”

_ “What?” _

Now, Bellamy’s talking quickly, doing his best to say as many words in as little time as possible. “Well, you said that you wanted somewhere with a garden, and I really wanted to get some place for just the two of us, so I looked into this one and there’s nobody living here, there hasn’t been for a long time, so Gabriel said it was fine if we just move in - and we’re close to the farmlands, so we’re close to Octavia, but also close to town if we need to go and there’s  _ lots _ of space for a garden, so-”

“Bellamy,” he says, and instantly, he falls silent. “I love it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” Murphy says, and he lets out a loving sigh, resting his head against Bellamy’s shoulder. “It’s beautiful.”

“I’m glad you think so,” Bellamy says, and then - “Welcome home, Murphy.”

* * *

At dusk, they decide to sit outside in the soft grass and watch the sunset. 

Murphy’s quick to assemble some firewood they’d found and then, with the help of a match, he sets it ablaze. After it’s lit, he sits in front of it and watches the sky, not moving even when Bellamy comes up behind him and wraps his arms around him, holding in steady in a warm embrace. 

Both of Sanctum’s suns set at different times, meaning that for a few extra minutes, the sky burns red as just one of them tries to do the job of two. As they sit, finding solace in each other’s company, something occurs to Murphy and he knows he has to ask the question now, or he’ll never find a chance to. 

“Hey, Bellamy,” he says, quietly, staring at the sun as it slowly begins its descent. 

“Yeah?”

“What was Daniel like?”

Bellamy pauses, thinking. “He was loud,” he finally says. “It’s why I figured out something was wrong, you know. He was so much louder than you ever were.”

“You figured it out?”

“I did,” he says, softly. “I asked him about Monty’s last words. He didn’t know them.”

Murphy hums. “Yeah. That would do it.”

“I know you, Murphy,” he says, and the darkness begins to settle on their shoulders, but it isn’t heavy. 

They sit in silence, listening to nothing but the sound of the other one breathe. Murphy hesitates, but then asks one more question. “Are you ever scared?”

“Of what?”

“Of it all being over,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m not immortal anymore, Bell. At any second, it could all be over. I don’t - doesn’t that ever scare you?”

Bellamy says nothing for a moment. “Of course it does,” he finally replies, “but - as long as you’ve got people to love and a life to live, it’s worth it.”

“It’s that simple?”

“It can be.”

_ There’s always a choice,  _ Murphy thinks, and he smiles. He leans back, resting his head on Bellamy’s chest. “I love you, you know.”

“I love you, too,” Bellamy says. “It’s me and you - that’s what you said, right? Me and you - always.”

“Me and you,” he repeats, and he means it. 

Murphy looks up, fixing his eyes on the last glimpses of the second sun. Just as it's about to fall beneath the horizon, a small black shadow glides across it, the silhouette of a being far more powerful yet also more fragile than anything he’d ever known. In the blink of an eye, Death leaves for the last time, heading up towards space and off, perhaps, to visit the souls of some other distant star that needs their lessons more than this one does. 

Death is no longer a part of him. It should hurt, to lose something once so integral to who he is, but his heart feels full. 

He relaxes into Bellamy’s embrace, feeling a sense of security in the rhythm of the rise and fall of his chest. Murphy’s eyes fall on the fire in front of them, sending soft sparks up into the sky and illuminating a perfect circle of peace all around them. 

There were many reasons, he thinks, as to why he lit that fire. Most of them, he’ll never say out loud - he doesn’t need to. Underneath it all, everything he’s done, and everything he will do from this moment on, has been for love. There has always been so much love, and now, he’s able to see it. 

Murphy grips Bellamy’s hand, gaining strength from their embrace. He looks up towards the stars and smiles, knowing that somewhere up there, his father is smiling right back. This night will turn to day, and a day will turn into years, and they will know nothing but peace. There’s always a choice, and as he reflects on what got them here, Murphy’s nothing but happy with his. Eventually, the rise and fall of Bellamy’s chest will send him off to sleep, and he will rest easy. 

It is only him, Bellamy, and the stars, moving together in perfect harmony toward eternity. For once, Murphy thinks, it can be as simple as that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy smokes. we made it, folks. there are some people i need to thank, so here goes:
> 
> oog, you inspired this whole thing, and i will forever be in your debt for all the late nights i spent yelling in your dms about horses and other such things. this entire fic (the whole thing!) is thanks to you. it is an honour to be known and be inspired by oogaboogu. truly. 
> 
> charlie, you have left me the nicest feedback and been so willing to hype me up around this whole fic!!! you have listened to all my rambles about it and been nothing but kind. you gave me so much confidence throughout this whole thing. thank you so much. in your debt. 
> 
> mac, mar, & clark - you all have let me talk at you about this fic and been nothing but kind. i owe you so much. i am so grateful to each and every one of you. thank you. 
> 
> and to YOU! anyone who read this all the way through, thank you. i never dreamt this fic would be so BIG and get as much attention as it has. i know i'm bad at replying, but i read all your comments and they make my day every single time. i can't convey how honoured i feel knowing people are reading this and enjoying it, i....it's funny, i'm at a genuine loss for words, even though i just wrote like 100k of them. so thank you. truly.
> 
> as always, i am on twitter @reidsnora! i invite you to please find me there. big love to everyone, another big thanks to everyone, and most of all, i hope you liked it! :)


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